After the Breakfast Club
by Savvy'sGut
Summary: Age old mystery of what happens after that memorable detention and the lives involved. Reviews are always appreciated.
1. Chapter 1

_I truly like the film, The Breakfast Club (you should watch it if you hadn't seen it). I think it's a lovely story and shows aspects of childhood many adults don't notice or just forgot about. It always brings tears to my eyes and I have to watch it at least once a year. Enjoy and please review._

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><p>Allison was humming to herself as she slowly made her way to school. She smiled softly as she watched her feet taking steps on the sidewalk, careful not to step on a crack.<p>

"'Or break you mother's back'." she muttered to herself.

She stopped walking, noticing a ladybird making its way across the sidewalk, too. She crouched down to examine it further, pulling out her sketchbook as she did. Allison reached for a single blade of grass on the lawn beside her and pulled it. Biting her lower lip, she carefully placed the blade beside the insect and waited patiently until she irritated it enough that it decided to crawl onto the green blade. Smiling to herself, Allison gently placed the grass on her knee and began to sketch, the ladybird kindly laying quite still.

Soon, the insect began to move again, which was fine with Allison, she was done with her drawing and simply waiting until the ladybird felt confident again. She watched as it spread its wings and flew off and away from her. Allison watched it until she couldn't make the insect out any longer and frowned. She suddenly felt very lonely. She let out a sigh and turned her attention toward school, not looking forward to the prospect.

Focusing on her feet again, Allison felt her hair fall over her face as she was walking through a particularly difficult distance of sidewalk. If she remembered correctly, there was an underground water pipe that had broken a few years back, corroded because the city planner decided spending money on her side of the neighbourhood was a last resort. Unfortunately for the planner, this particular pipe connected to four main water lines, one of which was for fire hydrant. A few doors down, a house caught on fire and when the fire brigade showed up, there wasn't any water to save the house. No one died, but a family lost a home and the city was sued.

Allison laughed at this as she danced her way on the sidewalk, enjoying herself thoroughly as she tiptoed, trying to avoid the cracks. She had done this every morning for the past year and often believed this was the best time of the day. She knew it wasn't true, but Allison sometimes thought that perhaps if she did accidentally step on a crack, her mother would end up in the hospital. She couldn't do it on purpose, because that would defeat the purpose. Allison never tried though. Why would she want to break her mother's back? Honestly, if she had that power, she'd wonder what else she could do? Fly, Allison decided. She wanted to fly.

First bell.

Allison looked up, her school waiting for her. She stopped from across the street and looked up at it, wondering what would happen if she didn't show up. Not much. Maybe. The only reason she went was to get a chance to leave her house and force herself to explore. That was her routine: school, home, work. Or home, school, work. Or even, work, school, home. She hated this part. She hated having to cross the street, narrowly being missed by the cars on the busy street, trying to push her way past the crowds of people just so that she could get inside. It made her nervous.

_Come on, Allison_, she prepped herself, _just do it. It'll be faster if you ran._

She always told herself the same thing and she always listened, so, she ran as fast as she could. Damn, she forgot to look both ways. She heard the screech of tires, the honk of horns, and curses all in her direction. Allison covered her ears from the loud noises, trying to ignore all the looks she was receiving. She felt her face warming but it was too late to slow down; she was almost to the entrance and all Allison wanted to do was get inside.

Her eyes entirely focused on the double doors leading inside, Allison did not notice when someone stepped in front of her. She grunted from the impact and fell backwards. She gasped, as she landed hard on the concrete of the walkway leading to the safe confines of the school.

"Fuck." she cursed softly, her bag falling from her grip and its contents falling out. Laughter fell into her ears. She began reaching for her things, her face reddening even more, and her eyes watering. All her precious sketches and all her pens, everywhere, "Damnitdamnitdamnit..."

"Shit, I'm real sorry." said another voice over her. Allison ignored whoever it was, trying to gather all her notebooks and shove them into her bag. The voice continued, a hand holding her pens in front of her "You run fast. I had to sprint across the lawn to stop you in time."

Allison felt angered, not answering the son of a bitch that stopped her. She reached for the pens and snatched them away, shoving those in as well. She was about to stand when she realised the hand was still there, waiting for her to take it. Furrowing her eyebrows she looked up and her anger faded immediately.

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><p>Andy rubbed his face as he made his way down the stairs of his parents' house. On the wall of the stairs were photographs of his family, him with his trophies, his older brother, Jeff, with his wife and child and his younger brother, Ryan, hugging his mother. Andy walked past these photographs without another thought and headed into the kitchen. No one was around, but that wasn't unusual; both of his parents worked. Andy saw a note on the fridge from his mother wishing him a good day and that his lunch was inside. He frowned at the other note, however, from his father. It was a daily schedule Andy had to make sure he followed. Andy reached for it and crumpled it, placing it on the kitchen table so that his father would see it first.<p>

He knew he was being a hypocrite, but it wasn't like he had much of a choice and he hated himself for it. He opened the fridge door forcefully, the contents on the door rattling violently at the movement, and for some reason, this only made him angrier. He pulled out milk for his cereal, orange juice, bread for toast, an apple, and a banana and slammed them all on the table. Andy could feel himself grinding his teeth as he got his breakfast ready, angry at himself, his father, at everyone.

He suddenly got a reminder and paused. He let out a sigh and leaned against the table for a moment, calming himself. _Everything is fine_, he thought, _you're almost there._ He sighed again and with a forceful calm, he began to eat, quickly. The faster he ate, the faster he could leave. Andy took large bites and swallowed taking gulps of orange juice in between to soften the bites. He placed his dishes in the sink, washed them, cleaned off the mess on the table and ran up the stairs to dress. He began to whistle.

Andy unlocked his car, throwing his bags in the passenger seat. He climbed in and placed his keys in the ignition. His car roared and he drove backwards down the driveway, looking both ways before driving onto the street, changing gears and charging up the street toward school. He rolled his window down and let the cool air wash over his face. He vaguely wondered if he had finished his homework and realised he hadn't. He decided he would, once he arrived at the school and found a quiet spot. He drove faster.

His mind was on other things, some pleasing, others not so much. His elbow was on the windowsill of his car door, his fist under his chin. His thoughts was slowly creeping toward her father's note. After he had parked, Andy stepped out of his car before slamming it shut, his jaw clenched and his hands in fists. He closed his eyes briefly and inhaled then exhaled deeply, trying to calm his temper as much as he could. He used his keys to lock the door and out of habit, pulled the handle just in case it wasn't locked. He dropped his keys in his pocket, checked to see he had his wallet on him, and re-positioning his backpack, he began to walk toward the school.

He nodded his head toward people that called his name, gave a few high-fives and smiled at passing girls that gave him a flirting grin. His mind was somewhere else though. He was looking for someone, someone that he was looking forward to seeing, he just didn't know where to look. He scanned the sea of faces on the front lawn, all waiting for school to start, but there was no one he cared to communicate with.

"An-day!"

Andy turned his head and saw his friends running at him. _Shit_, he thought, dropping his bag and readying himself for the impact. He grunted as the rest of his teammates lunged at him, knocking him heavily to the ground and all the air rushed out of his lungs. He struggled, using headlocks, takedowns, and avalanches before he and the others had given up or were bruised enough to stop. He enjoyed that, and guffawed and laughed with his teammates and anyone else close by that were watching them.

When Andy was calmer and was standing up straight, he ran a hand through his hair, looking around. He frowned, trying to focus his attention in finding her. He wondered if she was already inside. Yeah, he'll do that. He reached for his bag and shouldered it once more, heading toward the school's entrance.

"Where you goin', man?"

Andy hardly heard his friend calling to him and gave a wave of peace before walking closer to the entrance. His eyes stopped, there she was, just across the street. He smiled to himself, thinking how very cute she was, how delicate and soft. He was heading toward her when she began to run. His eyes widened as he watched a car speeding toward her direction.

"Fuck." He whispered, his heart beating against his chest, wondering how she had survived that, but there was no time to think about it, she was still running and he didn't want to miss her.

He dropped his bag and sprinted across the lawn his eyes still on her. He pushed people out of the way, jumping over obstacles. He just wanted to touch her and hold her. She was covering her face and didn't see him heading her way. He knew how this was going to end because he couldn't stop himself in time and collided with her.

He hardly felt her as she bounced off him, but he certainly didn't want it to be the way they would meet again. He watched her fall backwards and slam against the floor, he winced at the pain she might have felt, watching her bag spill out all over the walkway. He heard laughter around him and glared at those who dared. He quickly walked over to her and helped her with her things, apologising.

She was angry, and he understood. He gave her his hand to help her up but she didn't take it right away, staring at it. When she finally looked up, her mouth opened to a big "O".

"Hi." Andy said, smiling at her.

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><p>Claire moved a fringe of hair over her ear and off her face. Then she replaced it, then she moved it back again. She raised her arms and hit her sides in impatience as she stared at herself in her full-length mirror on the other side of her bedroom door. She didn't know what she liked more or what she hated more. Frowning, she decided to forget it and forced herself to walk away. Whatever, she'd rationalise about it later.<p>

She walked over to her vanity and sat on the small white stool in front of it. Again, she looked at herself and the fringe. She pushed it back and reached for the compact, placing it carefully in her purse. She then found her lipstick, mascara, and eyeliner and placed those inside her purse as well. She stood up from her stool, her eyes looking over the desk to see if she needed anything else for school. Her chest gave a jolt when she noticed a lone diamond earring, sitting quietly by itself, almost hidden under her other jewlery. She blinked at it a few times, thinking hard, her heart beating. She swallowed once and shook her head. She was just about to look at herself in the mirror again but thought better of it and walk away from her vanity and the other mirror behind the door. She pulled her bag off her four-poster and placed her purse inside of it before leaving her room.

Claire slowly opened the door to her bedroom and peeked outside, waiting for any signs of movement or talking. Nothing. She took a step out, placing her bag on her shoulder and tiptoed out of her room, closing her door as softly as she could. She moved as silently down the hallway, heading for the stairs. She stopped once again, listening. She peered around a wall and saw the door to her parents's bedroom open, well, her mother's. Her parents haven't slept in the same room for about ten years now. She wrinkled her nose as the faint smell of spirits and wine made their way into her nostrils. Claire frowned, hating everything about the house she lived in.

She quickly made her way down the spiral staircase and toward the kitchen. It was quiet and dark. She reached for the switch and turned the light on. Three set of bulbs above her lit up the marble island in the middle of the kitchen. Claire wasn't feeling too hungry at the moment, but opened the fridge for the salad Andrea, the house-keeper, nanny, friend, had made for her last night. She wished Andrea was around more often, but the woman had a family of her own and Claire doubted any sensible person would want to stay where she lived.

Claire opened up the container of the salad to make sure it was the one she wanted, the plastic echoing loudly against the tiled floor. She winced, pausing for any sound. Nothing. She crept toward the other side of the kitchen, wondering where her father was. He was usually up by now, making himself a coffee or something before work. Was he even home? Claire dropped her salad into her purse, grabbing a bottle of water and walked to the garage, her heel s clicking against the floor.

She reached into her purse to rummage for her car keys. She found her sunglasses instead and put those one as she reached the door into the garage. She reached around and pressed the button for the garage door. As it opened she began looking for her keys again. Sighing with impatience, she shook her purse and heard the faint ingle of keys. They were definitely in there. It was only a few moments more before she found it and sighed again. She unlocked her car door, stepped in and began to drive.

When she finally arrived at the school, she made sure her appearance was as good as she believed it should be. Claire took off her sunglasses, adjusted the rearview mirror to focus on her, along with her side mirrors, and pulled out her compact as well. Three different sides, three different views. Nope, everything was fine. She smiled to herself and replaced her sunglass back on her face before stepping out of the car. She let out a sigh and began to walk. Before she got very far, Claire heard a squeal. She winced at the sound, but inside only, she didn't show it on her face at all. She turned her head in that direction and plastered her best smile.

"Steph, hey."

"Claire!" Steph squealed again, giving her friend a hug, "Are you okay? Is everything okay? You missed the party Saturday."

"Yeah." Claire said with a nod, walking again, Steph beside her, "My parents wanted to...talk."

"Talk?" Steph said, looking at her oddly, "About what? I thought they didn't talk."

"They don't." Claire said, "It was pretty weird."

"Hey, wait, don't." Steph said, moving Claire's hand out of the way. She had subconsciously moved the dratted fringe while she was listening. Her hair was tickling her nose.

"What?" Claire said moving her head back away from Steph's hand.

"It's better in the front." Stephe said, her fingers combing her hair, "There."

Claire sighed, feeling annoyed.

"Oh my god!" Steph squealed, "Well, Nicole and Marcia will be here soon. They were at the party, and you wouldn't believe what happened..."

And she continued, on and on and on. Claire nodded and and made noises of agreement and disapproval in all the right places, but she knew Steph wasn't really listening, but neither was Claire. This conversation was about as far away from her mind as the moon. And still, she continued.

Clarie sighed inwardly, as she numbly walked up the steps to the school, Steph jabbering away about absolutely nothing. Claire opened the door and walked in, holding it behind her for Steph to walk through, who wasn't really paying attention as she giggled from something she must have said, Claire didn't remember. Frowning, Claire made an excuse about saying she had a really bad stomachache and needed to head for the nurses. Steph looked slighty put out and irritated for being interrupted. Claire watched her shrug her shoulders and turn around, walking a huff.

Claire scoffed at the attitude and instead of turning left for the nurse's station, she walked straight to her locker. She turned the dial of her lock and heard a satisfying click. She pulled the lock down and opened her locker, placing the lock inside. Almost automatically, she looked at herself in the mirror she had placed on the door, frowning at her fringe, then at herself; old habits die hard. She reached into her bag and pulled out the books she would not need and replaced them others. She reached her folders to make sure her homework was done and safe. Giving herself a mental nod, she reached her lock and the locker door, again checking her appearance.

"Damn it." she whispered and quickly closed the door but not before noticing another presence that was standing directly behind her.

Her heart skipped a beat and she jumped, not scared, but very surprised. She turned around slowly and unconsciously moved her fringe of stray hair over her ear.

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><p>John moved as slowly as he could off his bed. His feet found the floor before he turned his head to look on the other side. There he saw his baby brother, Mark, sleeping soundly under the covers, his small thumb in his mouth. John reached over and placed his covers closer to Mark's neck and tucked him in. He opened his bedroom door and peered out of it. He could hear the television across the hallway blaring. Either his mother was watching it or had fallen asleep in front of it. John crept into the hallway and walked toward his brother's room, looking for his stuffed animal, Ducky. John found it and picked it up before creeping back into his room. Mark was still asleep, his small eyes fluttering and his mouth moving to whatever beat he had in his dreams. John hoped to fucking god it was a good dream. He tiptoed closer to his baby brother and carefully placed Ducky under Mark's arms. He turned around and closed the door behind him.<p>

He headed for the kitchen, passing by his parents' bedroom door, giving it only a passing glance. It was his mother sleeping in front of the television. Again. He made a sound under his breath and frowned, as he entered the kitchen. Dishes were piled in the sink, take away had over-filled the bins and there were flies. John was normally a very neat person and if he let it, this would bother him to no end, but there was in no fucking way he was going to clean up after his goddamned parents. Fuck. That.

He opened the fridge and peered inside. Nothing. Beer. Beer. Oh, look, vodka and beer. A carrot. Old milk. And was that...a rotten orange. _Shit._ John continued to curse under his breath and looked at the clock on the wall. He had less than two hours before school started, and for the first time in a long time, he wanted to be in school, today. For an idealised reason, perhaps, but a reason. He had planned well and everything seemed to be going perfectly.

He slammed the door of the fridge angrily, startling is mother who made a sleepy noise from the hall but he ignored it and walked out his back door. He made his way past the broken tires and broken toolshed. John climbed over the old rusted car that was parked and hopped over his fence into his neighbour's backyard. The store was about ten blocks away and he needed to get there fast. Quickly, he jumped over multiple fences, ignoring the shouts from his other neighbours that happened to be out that morning at that precise time.

He had made it ten blocks in fifteen minutes. He was sweating and panting as he walked into the store, he knew others were looking at him but he didn't give a shit and glared. It was that needed to be done, he knew he looked scary; that was the fucking point. He headed down the aisles for a small carton of milk, bottled fruit, bread, and a few juice-boxes he knew Mark liked. Piling all these things in his arms he moved through the aisles again, to see if there was anything else he might be able to get. He paused, staring at a pastry. It looked good. He grabbed it.

John walked over to the cashier and dropped all the things unceremoniously on the counter, reaching into his coat pocket and pulling out a messy wad of cash and coins. The girl behind the counter kept her face down, staring at the food, and avoiding his gaze entirely. John laughed at this, unable to keep it quiet, and it only made the girl nervous. Her hands trembled whe she lifted her hand and mumbled something.

"What?" John asked, loudly, making the girl jump, "Can't understand a word you're saying...Agnes."

"10.15...please." The woman said louder. John handed over the money and she dropped the coins on the ground from her trembling hands.

John scoffed and shook his head as he bagged his things and walked away. He had given her a dollar more but he didn't really care. He took the same route back, but a little more carefully. There were no neighbours out back which he was more than happy about. He made it to his fence and hopped over it, landing heavily on the roof of the old car. He hopped of into the grass, nearly tripping on broken tires. He kicked it before walking into the house again through the back. He paused before moving in any further however. He heard nothing, but that didn't mean anything. He took another step forward and waited. He did this until he was inside his room and had closed the door again.

He heard movement. He looked up and saw Mark starting to stir. John dropped the groceries on his bed and started taking the contents out. He heard a yawn and from the corner of his eye he watched Mark rub his eyes vigorously before opening them and sitting up.

"Hey, buddy." John said, looking at him.

"Hi." Mark said sleepily, pulling Ducky to his face to chew on a foot. He looked at John then at the groceries with interest. He pushed the covers off his feet and twisted himself over them, crawling toward his brother and the food, "I'm hungry."

"I know." John said, laying out all the food he bought, "Where do you think I went this morning?"

Mark shrugged, still chewing on Ducky.

John opened the milk carton and handed it Mark, ordering him to eat it. His brother did and watched as John opened the plastic cup of fruit and the package of bread. Mark knew he couldn't eat anything else until the milk was finished and he did quickly, making a mess of himself, but he finished. John pulled out a few tissues in his jacket to wipe up his brother while handing Mark the fruit cup. He finished that quickly too.

"Damn, kid, you're going to eat me 'till I'm poor." John said with a smile. Mark smiled back and handed his brother cup back, wiping his face with the back of hand, "Full?"

Mark nodded his head, found Ducky again and fell back on the bed, yawning again, "Can I have dinner, too?"

John paused, about to put the pastry in his pocket. He bit the inside of his mouth and then placed the pastry high on his desk, where Mark couldn't reach it along with the bread. "Yeah, of course, I even got desert. Okay. What are the rules?"

"No leaving the room." Mark said, staring at him.

"Right, and?"

"Stay quiet."

"What else?"

"Hmm..." Mark said, thinking, "play with Ducky? But what if I have to go to the bathroom?"

John hesitated, "That's the only thing you're allowed to do outside this room. 'Kay?"

Mark nodded solemnly.

"Yeah, good kid." John said, feeling relieved. He reached over for his brother and tickled him who giggled and struggled silently away. John kissed him on the forehead and said, "Love you."

"Love you." Mark replied, humming 'Mary Had a Little Lamb' and making Ducky dance on his stomach.

John watched him for a minute, before opening his window and squirmed through it. He pushed to the window closed and pushed it tight so Mark wouldn't have the strength to push it back up. He hated leaving his brother alone and he cursed everything around him.

When he arrived at school, John had already smoked his last three cigarettes. He wanted to stop. He had to stop...he should stop. He walked slowly and without purpose through the school grounds, glaring at anyone who dared to to even look at him. He smiled inwardly as the whispers continued behind his back. Threats but he doubted anyone would act on them. Not without a posse anyway. That happened often, especially when he instigated it. He knew he was an idiot, but he was also a fuck up. It went with the territory.

He squinted toward the entrance, something familiar catching his attention. Smirking, he followed her into the school from a fair distance, watching and waiting. He watched her shrug her friend off and then followed her to her locker. The hallways were almost deserted as he walked and leaned against the wall behind her. He looked at her, drinking her in and anticipating the look she'll give him when she realises he's right behind her.

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><p>"Brian! Brian!"<p>

"Yes, Mom?"

"You've left your homework on the table! How many times have I told you not to do that? Move it! Now! Before you lose it!"

Brian ran down the stairs with his backpack on his shoulders, before his mother could yell anymore. He quickly made his way to the table and wrenched open his backpack, stuffing his books and papers inside.

"There's no need to throw a tantrum, Brian." His mother said from the kitchen, "If you would have listened in the first place, then I wouldn't have to tell you about these books."

Brian looked at her, "I'm not throwing a tantrum."

"Don't talk back, Brian." was his mother replied.

Brian sighed, frustrated and concentrated on the organisation of his backpack, anything to keep his mind off his demanding mother.

"Brian...?"

"What, Mary?" Brian said to his sister who was quietly eating cereal in front of him.

"Are you going to be late for school?"

"How should I know, Mary?"

"Brian, stop with that attitude." His mother said, glaring at him, wiping her hands on her trousers. Brian didn't say anything and she seemed satisfied, "Are you ready?"

"I've been ready." Briant muttered.

"What did you say?"

"Yes." Brian said, turned on his heel and walked out the front door, Mary close behind.

His mother, Mary, and Brian were seated in the front of the car. Brian was staring out the window, trying to ignore everything his mother was saying. Her screeching voice was penetrating his ears, and it was difficult to filter her out. She was a constant on his brain and the only thing that even gave him the slightest relief was school. But just slight.

"...that grade up in class. I don't care if it's shop class, art class, or gym. If your final grade is anything lower than an 'A' your' G.P.A will lower and then what are you going to do? You know that, at least I hope you know that. Right, Brian? You cannot lose any of your scholarships. You don't have that much time any more and I don't appreciate you slacking off, just because your high school days are nearly over. And it does not look goo that you just had your first detention. Detention, Brian! Of all the things - Brian? Brian? Are you even listening to me? Brian!"

The car had finally stopped in front of the school, and Brian took that opportunity to open the car door and tumble out, not bothering to close the car door behind him. He could still hear his mother calling to him, but he didn't care and didn't bother turning back. He walked onto the lawn of the school, a sea of faces in the front of the school, waiting for the first day of the week to start. He didn't know whether his mother had left yet, and he didn't really care. He opened the doors to the school and walked straight to his locker. Before he could open it, he felt someone slam him into the lockers. He looked over his shoulder noticing the usual bullies. They gave him the middle finger and laughed at him, daring him to do something.

Brian worked his jaw and tried opening his locker, hesitantly looking around him to make sure no one else was going to push him maliciously. He pulled out his math and science books and stuffed them into his bag before closing it with a slam. He walked down the hall to his first class. There was no one inside and he liked it that way. He pulled out a book and a piece of paper and started to study.

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><p><em>Favourite character, so far?<em>


	2. Chapter 2

_I honestly hope that you can relate to one of these folks, or maybe all of them..._

_Cheers._

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><p>Allison was happy Andy went to look for her. She was absolutely elated that he took the time to touch her, look at her, even talk to her in public. He didn't seem afraid at all.<p>

But she was afraid.

Allison was nervous. This attention he was giving her made her feel awkward and she didn't know what to do. She was staring up at Andy, not sure what her next move should be. She looked away from, not wanting Andy to see her face reddening and did the only thing she could do and cover her face. She felt something beside her and ever so slightly, moved her fingers from her eyes to look. Andy had crouched beside her and was smiling still, his blue eyes on her. Her breathing was erratic and she exhaled slowly. Allison watched as Andy reached for her arms with both hands and very gently pulled her to stand. She let him. Placing both her hands on her bag and pressing them tightly against her chest, she stood with him.

That's when she was noticing the stares. Strange stares from all the eyes around them and it was quiet. So quiet she could hear branches swaying against the slight breeze that was moving through her hair. She shuddered and swiftly reached for the hood of her jacket to cover her face. If she couldn't see them, they weren't there.

"Allison."

She jumped at the sound and turned her head to see Andy looking at her. _What,_ she wanted to say, she just couldn't get the words out.

He seemed to understand, though, and slowly moved a hand down her arm and into her palm. She stared at it, wondering what she should be doing right now.

"Let's go inside."

_I really, really, want to_, she tried to say, but nothing came out, so simply nodded. She placed the strap of her bag on her shoulder and gripped the hood of her jacket, biting her lower lip. It wasn't until Andy opened the door of the high school to let her in when she realised how very hard she was gripping Andy's hand. She quickly let go and reached for her bag's strap so that her arm was across her chest.

"Oh, shit..." Andy said, looking back outside, his face somewhat concerned. He looked back at her, his face softening, "What's your first class?"

Allison opened her mouth, then closed it, letting out a soft sigh. Communication was impossible.

"What is it?"

Allison looked at him quickly, then looked away.

"Come on." Andy said, taking her hand again and leading her away from prying eyes that she was completely aware of and apparently, so was Andy.

Andy walked her over down another hallway toward the back, closer to where the gymnasium was. He didn't quite go outside. The back double doors led to an area where stored chairs and desks were and a few broken computers and janitor brooms and mops. It was a bit darker here and colder. There was another set of doors leading outside, but Andy stopped walking and turned to look at Allison, dropping her hand.

"Better?"

Allison gave him a small smile and nodded her head slowly, looking at him and whispered, "Yeah."

Andy gave her another killer smile and slowly reached for her hood to push it away from Allison's face, "There's no reason to hide. Not with me."

Allison pretended to ignore this although it made her heart flutter. She looked around the room she was in and raised an eyebrow, "Do you bring all your girls here, sport-o? Or just the vulnerable ones?"

Andy shrugged looking slightly nervous and not quite meeting her eye. Allison bit her bottom lip and giggled silently. Andy looked at her in the corner of his eye then reached for her arms. Allison nearly resisted the touch, almost instinctively, not sure what to expect. It took her a split second before she allowed Andy to pull her closer to him as he backed into one of the broken desks. He placed his strong arms around her and squeezed. She tensed, not enjoying how it felt at first, but she forced herself to relax, remembering Hashimoto and his advice. For the first time, she listened to her shrink. She closed her eyes and took in a deep breath, aware of Andy's warm breath on her neck. She swallowed and hesitantly lifted her arms and awkwardly patted Andy on his back. She heard Andy chuckle.

"What?" Allison said, feeling frustrated and dropping her arms. She was trying, damn it.

"Nothing." He replied, looking at her, his eyes twinkling.

"No, tell me. What did I do?" Allison, feeling embarrassed and irritated.

"You're...cute." He said, his face reddening, and he shrugged, trying to play it off, "'cause..I don't know..."

Allison smiled to herself, _very articulate_.

"Shut up." he replied softly, staring at her face, then looking away.

"I didn't know you were so shy...spor-. A-Andrew...Andy." Allison paused, playing the name in her mouth, deciding she liked how it sounded, "Andy."

He looked up at Allison, slightly surprised at her saying his name. He smiled ruefully then grinned at her, reaching for her. Allison swallowed having an idea about what he was to do. Her heart was beating fast and her breath was being taken away as she felt a large hand caressing her neck. She closed her eyes as she felt his touch, enjoying it against her skin. She felt a slight pressure and opened her eyes, his face closer to her. She resisted somewhat and he stopped, his eyebrows furrowing. She sighed and took her hands to gently play across his face. He had recently shaved and she felt his smooth skin under her palms. _Just do it_, she told herself.

She quickly leaned down and kissed him on the lips, surprising him and herself as their lips aggressively touched. She was hungry for more, she wanted more and so did Andy but she wasn't ready. Not yet. Without so much as a second glance, she let him go, backed up and nearly ran out of the room. She didn't stop running until she got to her appointment at the counsellor's.

* * *

><p>Andy placed a hand to his head, panting slightly and feeling an incredible rush through his veins. He stood there silently, wondering what the hell just happened. <em>Fuck,<em> he thought, _fuck._ He stared at the door Allison just left through, wondering if he should go after her. He glanced at his watch, but was unable to see the time. He reached for the light on the watch and saw he had maybe five minutes before class stared.

"Fuck!" he said.

He ran out the back doors and sprinted to where he believed his bag was, running through the employee parking lot and hopping over a particularly high fence. And he didn't get to finish his fucking homework! _Fuck!_ But he couldn't stop smiling. Allison was completely worth it. There it was, right where he left it. His bag was still on the floor, his friends from the wrestling team standing around it as if guarding it.

"Andy! What the hell happened?" A good friend of his, Paul, asked, noticing him as he arrived. Others also called his name when they saw him too, "Where the hell did you go? Why are you sweating? The hell's going on?"

"Nothin', nothin', man. Everything's cool." Andy said, trying to catch his breath as he placed his bag around his shoulders again.

"Okay." Paul said, concernedly, "You sure?"

"Yeah, man." Andy said, walking toward the school again as the bell rang. He looked at Paul who was obviously not believing him and said in a low voice, "Tell you later."

"What'd you do, fuck a girl, Andy?" said another on his team, the others except for himself and Paul laughed, Paul merely smirked.

"Fuck off, Will." Andy said good-naturedly, punching him in the shoulder.

"That's exactly what he did, Will." another said, Dan, as the mess of them walked through the grounds, the rest of the school parting for them to walk through as they were Moses leading the Jesuits.

It was the first time Andy actually noticed this behaviour. He turned to look behind him and watched the crowd giving them various looks; admiration, hate, fear. Andy furrowed his eyebrows as he stared back ahead, suddenly feeling ashamed of himself. He felt another punch on his arm and he looked up, his thoughts leaving him. It was Dan.

"Missed the party, Saturday."

"No kidding." Andy replied, not really caring, "Dad had me run for 15 miles as punishment for detention."

"That kid deserved it."

"What kid?" Andy said, looking at Will.

"Fucking dweeb, with the fucking...glasses."

"Great description, dumbass." Dan replied, looking at him, "That's half the fucking school."

"Shut up, fag." Will replied, angrily, angrily pushing someone out his way and knocking the papers they held in their hands on the floor, "You know who I'm talking about. The fucker Andy taped up."

Andy wasn't listening, his mind on the person behind them who was trying to pick up the mess of papers on the ground. He sighed softly himself, already about ten paces ahead of them. He looked back. It was another kid, one he never remembered seeing, but he was trying to place papers in his folders but no one else was bothering to help him either. Either stepping on his papers or walking around him.

Andy frowned and turned around, walking over to the kid. "Andy?" he heard someone call, but he ignored it. The kid looked up, saw who it was and jumped, placing a folder over his head as if shielding his face. Andy ignored this, dropped his bag and bent down to help pick up the papers.

"Hey!" Andy shouted. Everyone's head turned to look at him, but he was staring at someone who had just passed and walked directly on one of the paper's on the floor, leaving a very muddy shot print, "The hell you doing? If you see someone who's trying to pick up his shit, help him, asshole. Don't step on it."

Embarrassed, the student rushed away out of sight, not looking at anyone or anything. Andy quickly piled up the papers and folders and handed them to the kid who took everything from him, gingerly, unable to say anything.

"Mr. Clark!"

Andy turned his head, recognising where that voice had come from. "Sir."

"You shout in my hallway again, that's another detention, mister." Richard Vernon said, striding over to him and pointing a finger very close to his face. Andy imagined breaking his finger, "Is that understood? I don't give a damn who you are, Clark."

"Sir." Andy replied shortly.

"Get to class." Vernon ordered.

Andy growled softly, reached down for his bag. He shouldered the strap and turned on his heel, his friends waiting for him in the hall looking very surprised, Paul watching him, carefully. Andy was aware of the looks, but he ignored them as he walked past them toward his first class of the day.

* * *

><p>"John." Claire swallowed as her back hit the lockers and the the echo of the locks reverberated against metal. She reached for her head, touching her hair, not entirely sure what to do with her hands.<p>

"Claire." was his response, his coy half-smile making her chest feel painful. He was leaning against a window, his hands spread on the windowsill behind him as he watched her.

"What, uhm, what...are you doing here?" Claire said, closing her eyes briefly realising how very stupid that sounded.

"Uh, I go to school here." he said evenly. She saw his eyes slowly looking at her up and down and this made her feel so uncomfortable.

Claire sighed, pulling the bottom edge of her skirt as far down as she could and swallowed, "No, no, what I meant was, why are you here, standing here, by my locker...was what I meant." _Christ, she sounded like a babbling idiot!_

"Wanted to see you." He replied, walking away from the window and taking a few steps toward her and stopped, "Do I need your permission?"

Claire let out a nervous, breathy laugh, trying to hide how very jumpy she was feeling, "No, of course not. You could do whatever the hell you want..."

"Sounds like an invitation." John said softly now standing very closer to her. Claire could smell cigarettes on his clothing and looked up at him, nervously shifting the weight on her feet, "Could I really do whatever I wanted, princess?"

Claire didn't say anything looking away from him. Truthfully, he excited her but she wasn't about to tell him that. She didn't know what she wanted, but John wasn't far from her thoughts. She cleared her throat trying to change the subject, still not looking at him.

"I have to get to class." Claire finally said and turned away from him, but she didn't get very far.

John took a single step and stopped in front of her, his large frame blocking her path. She tried to move around him but he was making it difficult, side stepping her. She narrowed her eyes, made a face and turned around, intending to go the long way, but he reached for her arm and pulled her toward him so that her back was on his chest. He reached around and gave her a hug, one arm around her waist, the other around her shoulders. Claire tried to get out of his grip, be he merely squeezed harder. She shuddered when she felt him kiss her very softly on the back of her neck.

"Don't move." he said, sleepily.

"I have to get to class." Claire said, but not really caring as much as she should of, but she liked how he felt.

"Skip it."

"I can't do that, John." Claire said, turning around in his arms, looking up at him with a small smile, "I got detention for shopping. Can you imagine what would happen if Dick catches me with you?"

John smirked, "What would we be doin'?"

Claire made a face at him, "Don't be gross."

"I'm just asking a question." John said, looking at her innocently, "Get your head out of the gutter, sweets."

Claire frowned at him, "You're charming when you want to be, but I don't know you well enough."

"You can get to know me." John said softly, his face getting closer and Claire was staring at his lips, anticipating the feeling again, "I'm all yours."

"And all your other girlfriends?" Claire challenged him, speaking just as softly.

That made John pause and then he allowed a familiar smirk on his face she had fallen in love with and it made her absolutely giddy, "Well, we might just throw them out the window. Depends on what you have to offer. "

Claire sighed, not sure whether to frown or smile and settled with something in the middle, because she wasn't even sure if she actually could believe him. The hallways were starting to fill up as the first bell was close to ringing. Voices and laughter, complaints and shouts from different students were echoing through the halls. Claire swallowed, her eyes looking out and watching the people in the hall. She was nervous again, but this was a different sort of nervous. The kind where people would notice she was talking to someone she wasn't supposed to be talking to.

John noticed. He turned his head around, following her eyes, when he looked back at her, he did not look happy. Claire watched him straighten up and place his arms across his chest. She wasn't sure what to say but knew she had just become rather ashamed of herself. She felt tears welling up in her eyes as she watched his face getting darker, his eyes becoming narrower. Suddenly, he had a rather nasty smile on his face.

"I get it, Cherry." He said out loud, calling her a name she absolutely hated. She widened her eyes at the tone of his voice and heads turned in their direction and whispers started almost immediately. John back off, his hands in the air, nothing happy in his eyes, "I'll leave you alone. Don't you worry about that."

John turned on his heels and stalked off, his heavy boots hitting the ground as he walked, people quickly moving out of his way. Claire closed her eyes briefly, before looking back at John's retreating back. _Shit_, she thought to herself as she sat on the windowsill, _Why the fuck did I do that?_ She wanted to call out to him, run to him, just find him, but she didn't move from her spot, the smell of John was fading quickly, his touch was already gone. _Shit._

"Claire!" She sighed, not wanting this right now, "Claire?"

She looked up to see Steph again, standing in front of her with her arms across her chest, looking a bit cross. Nicole and Marcia was already in tow, looking just as annoyed and the other gave her a small smile. Claire felt annoyed just by looking at them and didn't bother hiding it, either. She just wasn't in the mood.

"What's wrong with you?" Steph asked placing her hands on her hips, "I've been calling you, why didn't you answer me?"

"Leave her alone, Steph," Marcia said, sitting beside Claire and looking at her, "she's obviously upset."

"How the hell am I supposed to know, for fuck's sake?" Steph replied.

"You didn't." Nicole said making a face, "You can't read minds."

"What's wrong, Claire?" Marcia asked, placing a hand on hers, "You can tell us."

"I'm bored of this." Nicole said, sighing irritably as the first bell rang, "Claire's bringing the mood down. Let's go."

With that, she turned, Steph following beside her, but Marcia didn't leave.

"Come on, Claire." Marcia said trying to sound happier and stood in front of her, "We have the history presentations today. Are you ready?"

Claire looked up at her, nodded numbly and allowed Marcia to lead her to first period. They took their seats in the front and sat, waiting for the teacher to call roll. She never felt so low. Not when her brother moved out, not when her mother started drinking, not even when her father admitted to his affair. She felt dirty and angry and annoyed.

As if struck by lightening, Claire straightened up in her chair, finally making a decision. Her own decision. She stood up and to everyone's great surprise, she strode across the classroom reached for the handle of the classroom door and walked out.

* * *

><p>John was skipping class. He had made his way to the back of the school and was walking swiftly to the bleachers outside by the football field. He walked up as high as he could, facing the direction of his house and wondered whether he should get back. His immediate thought was Mark, but he was okay. John fucking hoped the kid was. He smiled softly to himself as he remembered his baby brother's face light up when he saw food.<p>

John frowned, wondering why the fuck he lived in a household where there was fucking kid who couldn't fucking take care of himself and why the world expected his god damn fucking bastard parents to take care of the kid, anyway. John could feel his chest heaving and his temper rising the more he thought about it. He'd kill for a cigarette right about now. Or four.

"_Fuck!_" he screamed suddenly, his temper getting the better of him, "_Shitdamnmotherfuckergoddamnedfucking_...fucking...asshole. Shit...ugh..."

That felt good, even if it was only temporary. It was just an excuse, though. He was trying to keep his mind off Claire by just thinking about anything that would involve all of his time, but there was no stopping his thoughts and it was driving him crazy and this angered him. He tried to rationalise that he was sick, not thinking straight because there was a cold. His sinuses were acting up, right? He sniffed.

No.

He sat back against the bleachers and crossed his arms, letting it go and allowing his thoughts to revolve around Claire, like every-fucking-thing out there, this was another thing she had wrapped around her long, thin, white...finger. He made a face, wondering how the hell she managed to get inside his head so fast. At first, he thought it as because he was stuck in the library with her for so long, but there were fucking four others there too.

_But_, John said to himself, _she was the one you picked on, that you loved seeing riled. You enjoyed the crinkle between her eyebrows when she frowned. _

_I made her cry._

_I did._

_Did I enjoy it?_

_No. I hated it._

_"Fuck!"_ John yelled again.

"John."

He turned his head quickly to see Claire standing just a few feet away from him. He was wrapped in own thoughts so deeply he didn't even noticed anyone close by. He felt his temper rising again, just by looking at her but he inhaled deeply and exhaled, feeling frustrated as he rubbed the back of his head animatedly.

"The fuck you want, Cherry?" he finally said, leaning forward in his seat.

"I-I wanted to apologise, is all." Claire said, her hands rubbing her arms up and down. She was cold and and John was resisting the urge to giver her his coat; but it was difficult, "I'm so sorry I did that to you. I'm an idiot and I know that, now."

John leaned back in the bleachers and frowned at her, "You think I give a damn about what you are? Huh? _Princess_? Get off your fucking high horse. No one here cares."

He turned his head but he knew he made her cry. He hated himself for it, but he also told himself he'd get over it. She was being shitty, she knew better and she still didn't bother to change. Whatever the consequences, they were on her. Right? For. Fucking. Sure.

"No, John, I don't think you give a damn, but it's the truth." Claire said. John turned his head, regretting it. Those fucking eyes, that fucking face. She was wiping away tears that were running down her face, "I mean, I just walked out of a classroom for you! There's a presentation on the Holocaust that was due today that I've been working on _for_ _weeks_. I'm going to get an 'F' on it, I just know it because Mr. Wrinkler hates me and will probably give me detention because I walked out on him. And if Vernon catches me away from class, he'll probably give me detention as well, then I'll have two detentions and I'll-"

John raised his eyebrows at her as she placed a hand on her mouth and continued speaking more to herself though, "Brian was right. I am conceited...I talk way too much and when I do talk it's always about me."

He looked at her longer but didn't say anything, he wasn't sure what to say. Before he could get a chance, Claire turned around and started walking down the bleachers. John watched her for a minute before growling under his breath. He stood up and ran down the bleachers after her.

Claire had heard his heavy shoes hitting the aluminium and was waiting for him by the grass, her face hopeful and sad. John didn't say anything as he walked over to her, wondering if what he was about to was really a good thing. He was a fuck-up in everything he did but the last thing he wanted was to fuck up the plans he's played out in his head for too long, all of them for Mark. Fuck shit if he was leaving his baby brother with his good-for-nothing parents.

Claire spoke, "I understand if you don't want to talk to me anymore. I just found out something out about myself and this feeling is...this feeling, I don't know if I can-"

"Shut up." John said, placing his hands on the sides of her face. She did as she bought her bottom lip, tears falling down her face. John swallowed, wiping the tears off her face with his thumbs. He let out a sigh slowly placing a hand behind her head and another on her back to pull her forward into him, their lips finally together.

He felt Claire resist a bit, but it was only a second before she allowed him to kiss her as much as he wanted. He smiled softly to himself at how hesitant she was at first, but soon a more passionate connection occurred during three, four, too many to count, kisses.

* * *

><p>It was lunchtime and Brian managed to get pushed, shoved, kicked, punched, smacked, and tripped all in the matter of four hours. He didn't get his lunch stolen, but he's pretty sure the sandwich his mother made was flat. Sighing, her walked into the cafeteria and sat at his usual lunch-table, close to the back emergency doors and the perpetuating fan where no one ever found its location. Not only did it make it cold at that table, but the fan propelled a funky smell in their direction.<p>

Already sitting at the table was Larry, move his weight restlessly on his seat, trying to get as comfortable as he could. Sitting across from him was Teagan, whose mother really wanted a girl but got a boy instead. Teagen's mother didn't bother changing it because she got "too attached". Beside Brian was Deborah, a girl, who unfortunately shared a name with a particularly nasty other student and had quite a few classes with her. Brian took a seat beside Larry and greeted them all.

"Hey Larry, Tea. Deb."

"I go by Teag, now." Teag said, giving him a nod in greeting, and pushing his thick glasses up his nose, "I'd rather not sound like a warm beverage that the English drink every morning, but funnily enough, more and more English citizens have been turning to coffee over tea, an interesting factoid."

"Hey, man." Deb replied, giving him a smile after giving Teag a strange look. Brian had a massive crush on this girl. No only was she attractive but she was really intelligent and _chose_ to sit with the dweebs. In fact, the others probably had a crush on her as well, but no one ever thought they would ever have a chance.

Brian nodded his head at Teag, that was interesting, he thought, as he pulled out his lunch from his paper bag. He pulled out a thermos, an apple juice-box, and yes, his sandwich was indeed quite flat. He sighed to himself as he stared at it, wondering why he even bothered. He looked over at Teag's food. It was from the cafeteria and it looked a lot more appetising, even if he didn't know what it was. His eyes looked over at Larry's lunch - grapefruit. Larry's mother was trying to make him loose weight. Deb was drinking water and reaching into a bag of crisps.

"You change your name every week, _Teag._" Deb said to him, gulping water, "Just live with it. Your mother named you after a girl. Be proud of that fact. Not many people get this opportunity."

"And as a male, when the hell would this ever be an advantage?"

Deb thought for a minute then, "Scholarships, surveys, interviews, phone sex."

"Anyone have sugar?" Larry asked them.

"There's some up there." Teag said, digging into his yellow..corn? He continued talking with his mouth full, Brian made a face, "In the line. What?"

"Nah." Larry said, putting his spoon down, "I just won't eat."

"I'll get it, Larry." Deb said, standing and picking up her trash, "I need to find Jay, anyway. Just a minute."

"Here." Brian said, handing over his sandwich and laying his head on his arms, thinking about Deb and fucking _Jay,_ "I'm not hungry."

"What's wrong, Brian?" Larry asked him, already finished with half the sandwich, "Is it Deb?"

"Nothing, just...nothing." Brian mumbled. Yes.

"Is it your mother again?" Teag asked, looking over his glasses, "I doubt she'll ever lay off you until you move out on your own, but that won't happen until you get a job, but even then, you'll have to juggle a job, scholarships, and school. Not to mention all these clubs. Way too much pressure if you ask me."

"I didn't ask you...Teag." Brians said looking at him.

"Sorry, my intention wasn't to offend you." Teag replied, looking somewhat hurt.

"It's cool, Teag, just...don't want to talk about it."

"Can I have your juice-box, Brian?" Larry asked, looking at him then the box.

"Take anything you want, Larry." Brian said, his eyes now focused on the door of the cafeteria.

He had already looked at the different faces in the cafeteria, already sitting down at their usual tables. The jocks or sports chose an area close to the food line, and the richies were sitting beside them. He didn't spot either Andy or Claire. He took this as a good sign, but his optimism never really lasted long with him, but he tried. His eyes rover over toward the other exit where the rejects, the burners, sat but Bender wasn't there either. He felt more hopeful though. The three people he had met just a few days ago were no where to be found. _But_, he told himself, _my eyes might have just missed them. Brain usually tells you want you want to find, thus providing a much more difficult time in focusing on the object desired. _Brian shrugged, trying to ignore the musings in his head.

He spotted Allison first. She was walking slowly, her face half-covered in the hood. Brian raised his arm and waved to greet her, but she didn't seem to see. He even tried calling her, with the intention of shouting, but he didn't. The last thing he wanted was attention and suddenly feeling embarrassed, he lowered his arms, too.

"Who are you waving to?" Larry asked him.

"Al-Allison." Brian stated, still keeping his eyes on the girl. She had not made it all the way into the cafeteria and seemed to be waiting for something and looked really nervous. Brian wondered if he should just walk up to her and say hi. Should he?

"Who is Allison?" Teag asked, looking around, "Brian? Brian."

Brian decided. He stood up from his seat and walked across the cafeteria, aware of the eyes that were on him. Giving the sports table a very wide berth, he went the long way around to reach Allison, who seemed much more interested in leaving now. She was slowly backing away from the cafeteria, not finding what she was looking for.

"He-y, hey, Allison.." Brian stammered, walking closer to her, he tapped her on the shoulder, "A-allison."

Allison turned her head quickly, her face pale and scared when she saw Brian. She let out a sigh, looking relieved. She gave Brian a small smile and almost whispered, "Brian. Hi."

"Sit with us." Brian said to her, nodding his head behind him.

"Okay." Allison whispered and followed Brian back toward his table.

Deb was already sitting at the table and listening to a heated discussion between Larry and Teag. Brian arrived and took his seat beside Larry again, then watched as Allison hesitantly pulled out a chair and sat in it, slowly, her knees against her chest.

"Hi." Deb said, looking curiously between Brian and then Allison again, "I'm Deb, that's Larry over there and Teagan, oh sorry Tea, no fuck, what was it again?"

Allison gave Deb a small, shy smile, while Brian turned his attention to the argument the other two were talking about.

"...in order to be happy. Everyone is selfish because there is always an ultimate goal. There is no such thing as Altruism."

"Yeah, there is. If I gave you food because you were damn hungry without any intention of expecting anything back, that's being Alturistic."

"So, you've decided to make yourself feel better by giving me food. You decided that it's your _morality _goals to give a starving man food. Sounds selfish to me."

"It isn't if I want to feed you."

"Sure, it is." Larry explained, looking at him over his glasses, "You are like normal people, living by morals that have helped you make decisions for most of your life, missing out on a lot of opportunities most are probably unaware of. Those who don't follow these 'rules' abide by nothing and therefore have no barriers to perception in decision-making. Take the jocks for instance, here they have power and make their own rules, so they can do whatever they want."

"This is what you guys do during lunch?" Allison asked Brian with a funny smile on her face as the other two continued arguing.

"Pretty much." Brian said. He paused, looking at her, "T-thanks for coming and sitting with us. Wasn't sure...if..I should...you know, hope."

Allison looked at him before shrugging her shoulders and said softly, "I think it'll be okay. I was hoping you would be here. I wanted to tell you...Andy found me this morning."

Brian sat up straighter, "Really?"

Allison nodded slowly and looked very shy as her face reddened. She fingered the matted fur around the hood of her jacket, "Yeah."

Brian laughed, "Cool."

* * *

><p><em>Whoo, okay. Wrote two chapters in two days. Need a break. Not too long, though, I'm excited to write more.<br>Please, tell me your thoughts!_


	3. Chapter 3

_Trying to keep the stories consistently placed so that it's possible for you, the reader, to jump around to different sections if that's what you prefer. I hope you find that to be a sound idea. :P_

* * *

><p>"Hi, Allison. Glad you could make it back on such short notice."<p>

She didn't reply, just stared at the councillor, waiting for him to get to the point.

Hashimoto seemed to understand and gave her a small smile before reaching for a piece of paper that was sitting silently in front of him, a shiny black pen beside it. Allison decided she was going to take it before she left; he wasn't using it. She vaguely wondered if she was a magpie in a past life. She watched her shrink pick up the paper, skim through it and fold it, placing it in an envelope, but he didn't seal it before handing to her.

Allison reached for it slowly, wondering what it was about. She stared at it, fingering the corners trying to decipher what was inside the envelope. She held it to the light trying to peer through the paper. Hesitantly, she placed a finger under the unopened seal, giving a sidelong glance at Hashimoto.

"Before you open that, Allison, can you please listen to me, first?"

Allison narrowed her eyes wondering if he had some sort of trick up his sleeve. It wasn't usual with him, but one could never know what someone could be up to, especially to someone she was forced to talk to every week. And he was free. What good is a free shrink? About shit. Then her chest dropped as her worries took over. What if this was a letter saying she couldn't graduate because she was too fucked up in the head, or make her retake tests that make her miss classes, her grades drop, she fails, and she'll be forced to live with her parents-

"Allison, it's not that." Hashimoto said, who was watching her carefully. Allison looked up, feeling taken aback, "It's nothing for you to worry about. You're not failing and you won't get held back. Promise."

Allison inhaled deeply and exhaled, pushing her hair out of her face and feeling tears in her eyes, but they were more for relief than anything else. She had to calm down. Her heart was pumping quickly and her chest was heaving. Damn it. She was close to hyperventilating and she didn't even realise it. And damn him for knowing what was going through her mind.

"It's just a list. A list of names; doctors. Shrinks." Hashimoto replied, stepping around his desk to sit on the corner. He folded his hands in front of him and looked at her, "You're going to be leaving this school soon and...I think...it might be a good idea for you to look for one."

Allison frowned staring at the envelope. She didn't know what to say.

Hashimoto continued, "Just meet them, talk to them. I know a lot of the people on that list, people I trust, and I can recommend a few. Some owe me favours and I can call them up and get you a free session, one full hour. If you want, more."

Allison felt tears running down her cheeks. She wasn't sure why she was even crying, but she felt afraid and nervous. The last thing she wanted was for things to change because she couldn't even control those changes; she didn't want to be labelled. She placed a hand to her face and tried to hide behind it, embarrassed and anxious as her leg pumped up and down.

Hashimoto moved from his desk and crouched down beside her so that his head was level with hers. Allison, in all truthfulness, liked him. He had a kind face and he never lost his temper, even when she stole things from him, lied about her feelings, drew unnervingly realistic and gruesome drawings of him and everyone at the school, and threatening him, herself, and her parents. Hashimoto was able to see through everything she did. His jokes were lame, but she didn't mind. Allison remembered them.

"Talk to me." He said, softly, "What's wrong?"

Allison didn't answer right away, but he was patient and sometimes she hated it. She remembered for a few years back, she stubbornly refused to say anything to him at all for about two weeks straight, but he never questioned or asked, he just waited. It took until she lost her temper that Allison finally screamed at him to get the fuck off her back. That's what started dialogue.

Allison muttered behind her hair and under her hood.

"I didn't get that, Allison. I'm sorry, can you repeat it, please?"

Allison sighed angrily and blew the hair off her face, forcefully pushing her hood down to look at him. She crossed her arms and leaned back in her chair, "I don't want a new one."

Hashimoto stood, placing his hands in his trouser pockets, "They're better equipped for talking than I am, Allison."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Allison said, staring up at him, feeling upset.

"Well," he continued, leaning back on his desk and looking thoughtful, "instead of having a workload of 867 students and faculty members to look over every few weeks, they usually have just ten cases for about six months. More time for you. Besides, you know I'm not allowed to see people outside the student body."

"We're talking just _fine_." Allison told him with narrowed eyes, her words slow and poignant.

"We are, and I enjoy our talks." He agreed nodding at her with a small, sad, smile before turning back to sit behind his back. Hashimoto sighed, "But, Allison, you've been coming in here for over three years and nothing seems to be changing. I'm about as professional as my degrees tell me I am, but if nothing has progressed then _I'm_ doing something wrong."

"You just-you just told me this morning, that I-" Alison stammered, thinking back to the session she had with him during first period. After she had seen Andrew. She took in a deep breath, "You told me this morning that I seemed happier than you'd ever seen me."

"I did, yes." Hashimoto agreed.

"Then, what-what are you talking about?" Allison said, gripping her bag and twisting the strap, her anxiety level rising, "I'm doing just fine..."

Hashimoto had placed a fist on his chin, clearly thinking as he watched her. Allison didn't like the way he was studying her and hurriedly placed her hood over her face.

"Something happened to you, Allison, something that made you very happy. This morning." Hashimoto finally said, his hand still on his chin, "And that's a good thing. It's something you haven't felt in a long time, probably forgotten what it was like. Whoever did, whatever did, try to open up to it. Little at a time. You've heard this before, but jut one more time, learn to trust again."

Allison hesitated, then nodded before standing up from the chair to leave, still hiding her face.

"Before you go, Allison." She turned her head and body, only peeking out from her jacket, "Just a word of advice. Be careful. There will always be good times, but there will always be bad ones, too. Choose the ones that make you happy, just...be ready to face consequences. And...here."

Allison looked at him, then at what he had in his hand; it was the shiny black pen. She blinked then looked at him again.

He smiled at her, "I saw you looking at it. I'd rather I give it to you, than you steal it."

Allison bit her lower lip before reaching it and running out of the room.

"You're welcome." Hashimoto called, amused.

* * *

><p>"Clark! What are you doin'? Stop slacking off and pick your feet up! Go! Go! Go! Winters! You do that again, you'll be kissing the floor before I'm done with you, now move it!"<p>

Two whistles.

"Damn it, O'Mally, you do that, you're going to break your wrist! Christ, what the hell is wrong with you kids today?"

Andy was breathing hard as he did his quick sprints. He was tired. His sweat was running down his face and his legs were burning but he was also distracted. Normally, he didn't really have a hard time focusing on his next move, what to anticipate, how much he could push himself but right now his thoughts were all over the place and coach was losing his temper. He narrowed his eyes, forcing himself to focus on the next step of his foot, where his momentum should be, how swiftly his arms should pump.

"Duggan! Clark! Ahhh, for the love of...ugh. Wait, don't move 'em."

Andy was on the floor, breathing hard, not entirely sure how he got there. It was dark and he could hear voices around him, echoing through his ears. It wasn't until then he felt a sharp pain move up his leg, through his hip, up his chest and it exploded throughout his entire body. Just as quickly, the pain moved back down his leg to his foot and it stayed there. He cursed through his teeth as he sat up, reaching for his ankle, squeezing it, trying to relieve some sort of pressure from it. It hurt.

"Okay, okay, Clark, stop, we're going to get you up here." Andy felt his arm being pulled over Coach Nease's shoulders, his eyes now closed because of the pain, his teeth still barred, "Winters, grab his other arm, we're going to the benches. Duggan, you okay?"

"Yeah, Coach." Duggan said a few feet away, "How's Andy?"

"Dunno." Nease said, glancing at Andy, "Do me a favour and grab the first aid kit in my office."

Andy placed his foot down, but the moment it touched the floor, the pain intensified making him curse again.

"You're going to have to hop, Clark, c'mon." Nease said, leading Andy to the benches that seemed like a mile away.

When andy finally sat, he let out a sigh of relief that he didn't have to stand any longer. He could feel the blood pumping around his ankle and he could feel his ankle swelling, pushing out of his sneakers. He stared at his ankle. That wasn't going to heal anytime soon. _Dad's going to kill me_, he kept thinking in his head. He reached down to pull off the laces, _Dad is going to kill me._

"Alright, lift it up, Clark, on the benches. There you go." Nease said, crouched beside Andy's now free foot. It was swelling badly. Purple and blue was already the dominating colour, "Ahh, shit. Can you move it?"

Andy did. Very little. That gave off some relief, but not enough and he sighed, swallowing, "Dad's going to kill me."

Nease stared at him, but chose not to say anything, "What about your toes, can you move those?"

Andy did.

"Alright, uhm, hey, Morris, Gentry?"

"Yeah, Coach?" Morris asked, giving Andy a nod and looking at Nease, Gentry beside him.

"Go get the crutches from my office and find out why the hell Duggan is taking so damn long. Gentry, get a bag of ice. Hurry up. The rest of you, get back to practice. Now."

When everyone had left, Nease turned to Andy, "You're probably going to have to stay off your foot for a few weeks. Might want to go to a doctor, too. Looks nasty."

Andy sighed, suddenly feeling a massive amount of weight on his shoulders, "There's a meet on Saturday..."

"Which you won't be part of." Nease said, looking at him. Andy shifted his weight nervously. He knew Nease was disappointed, he was disappointed in himself and he knew his father was going to be disappointed. _Dad. Is going to. Kill me,_ "Sorry, Clark, but you gotta sit this one out. 'Kay? You want me to call your father?"

Andy looked down at his hands that were on his lap, then his ankle and shook his head.

"You're a bit distracted today." Nease commented, looking at him, slightly worriedly, "Everything okay here at school? At home?"

Andy nodded, not looking at him.

Nease sighed as he stood, "Alright, well, once Duggan, Gentry, and Morris get back, we're going to wrap up your foot and cover it in ice. Use the crutches and get some rest." He paused, then, "If you need me to talk to you dad, I will. Just say the word."

Andy watch him turn and leave to look after his other teammates. He felt pathetic and stupid. Why the hell didn't he notice where the hell he was going? What the hell was he thinking? He reached over for his ankle and tried to leave more of the pain by squeezing it, but it was only temporary. When he squeezed at his ankle, the lower part of his leg would feel bruised. He was running out of hands. Allison. It hit him so suddenly. That's what he was thinking about. He frowned, his eyebrows growing narrower as he fumed, silently.

"Here, you go, Andy. Sorry it took so long." Duggan said, running over to him and handing him the first aid kit, Morris not far behind. Duggan sat beside him and took a sidelong glance at Nease, "I found a list of Universities on Nease's desk. I think they might be recruiters."

Andy's felt his stomach twist as he heard this.

"You think they'll be there Saturday?" Morris asked, leaning the crutches on the other side of Andy's foot.

"Could be." Duggan said, looking at Andy, "Don't worry, Clark. You'll be okay. You're one of the best on the team. Hell, if they take Morris, you'll be a shoe-in."

"Fuck off, Duggan."

"Make me, asshole."

A whistle. Nease yelled, "Hey! Get back to practice you two, and stop clowning around. Both of you have a lot of work to do before Saturday. Move it!"

Andy watched them leave before slowly reaching for the first aid kit and opening up the plastic box. Inside were alcohol pads, bandaids, and a few cotton wraps. He pulled one of them out and slowly bend his knee to reach his ankle easier. He winced as gravity forced his blood to fall. He could everything going on in his foot and the pain wasn't going away. His thoughts lingered on his foot for awhile before turning back to his father, knowing full well how the reaction was going to be.

_"What the hell did you do to your foot, Andrew?"_

_"I don't know."_

_"You don't know? How could you not know? it happened to you, didn't it?"_

_Andy would shrug._

_"Don't shrug your shoulders. God, how could you do this to yourself? Did you **forget** about Saturday? No? Well, that's what it looks like to me. Why do you do this, huh? Where is your head? How are you going go to college? I sure as hell ain't paying for it. You need to get your act together, Andrew, or so help me."_

"Here, Andy."

Andy looked up and saw Gentry handing him a bag of ice. He took it and saw his fellow teammate joining the others who were now pulling out mats to practice strategies. Andy really wished he was there with them. He turned back to his ankle, feeling angry and ashamed. He had finished tightly wrapping his foot and slowly spread his leg, slowly rotating his foot at the ankle, already feeling the stiffness. He leaned back, his thoughts retreating back to Allison. He made a fist with his hand, his pain forgotten momentarily.

_What the hell is wrong with me?_

* * *

><p>Claire did not get an 'F', nor did she get detention, either. She had the good sense in stopping John (and herself) from getting too physical before she realised that she needed to get back into school. One, because, damn it, John and his constant sexual innuendos made her feel nervous and two, she didn't know if she could trust him. Claire didn't even know if they were together. John telling her of his multiple girlfriends on the side was not something she would appreciate and it weighed on her mind. His kisses were amazing, though. <em>Stop it, Claire.<em>

She felt the pit of her stomach collapse in anticipating the worst scenario she could imagine as she made her way back into Wrinkler's class who demanded an explanation. To Claire's great surprise, Steph spoke up saying that Claire had been sick that morning and she was having problems all morning. What surprised her even more was what crotchety, bi-speckled Wrinkler told her after class.

"I understand you're sick, Ms. Standish, but I would appreciate it if you had raised your hand and explained the situation instead of just walking out of my classroom, willy-nilly."

Mr. Wrinkler was at his desk, a pile of books stashed neatly beside his right elbow and graded papers stacked neatly against his left. He had three pens placed in row behind his nameplate, all facing the same direction. He had two pencils right below the pens, sharpened to a neat point. Claire was standing nervously on the other side, fingering the strap of her bag.

"Sorry, Mr. Wrinkler." Claire said, not believing her luck, but trying to look sorry without looking too relieved, indeed, "It won't happen again."

"It had better not." Her teacher replied, glaring at her before folding his hands together and leaned back of his chair, making it squeak, "Now, about your grade. I won't give you an 'F'. You do work hard, _most of the time." _

He pursed his lips together before continuing. Claire swallowed.

"So I will allow you to give your presentation next class. I doubt I need to remind you that I will be grading you harder than anyone else. Understand, Ms. Standish?"

Claire let out a sigh of relief, "Yes, yes, thank you, sir."

"Go, go." Mr. Wrinkler said under his breath sounding annoyed. He picked up a pen and book, opening it to a page he had saved.

"Thank you!" Claire said, running out the classroom and feeling better than she had been for most of that morning.

She moved swiftly to her locker, feeling very happy. She didn't hear people calling out her name in the halls or stopping to greet her, she was practically walking on clouds. So many good things happened that day, it had to be some sort of omen. She opened her locker and peered inside looking for her geometry textbook. Claire found it but paused, her fingers on the book. She licked her lips, then took a quick glance over her shoulder and sighed, seeing no one. She closed her eyes, suddenly feeling very silly. She wanted John to be there, but she had no idea where he went after she had left him to go inside. Feeling slightly put-out, Claire shrugged her shoulders of the thought and pulled out her books to replace them with ones she had in her bag. She saw her salad and felt her stomach rumble.

It was time for lunch and she was supposed to meet with Nicole at the cafeteria doors so they could go inside together. But...she didn't want to. Claire didn't feel like complaining about the people at the school, she didn't feel like talking about prom, or boys, or how pretty someone's new dress was or agree that the new birthday car daddy bought should have been a Porsche instead of a BMW. She frowned as she closed her locker door slowly. She suddenly realised she really didn't have any friends at all. All the feelings of exhilaration she had just a few moments before deflated in her like a balloon. With John, Claire had realised what sort of person she was like, the one person she wanted to avoid being like, but she made all the same decisions, all leading to unhappy circumstances. Suddenly, she realised she absolutely hated herself.

Claire felt tears in her eyes as she walked, not really paying attention to where she was going, but she didn't want to talk to anyone or see anyone she knew and she thought of the one place she would never see someone she could recognise. The library. Feeling more determined, Claire walked quickly down the halls and turned a corner. There it was. The last time she'd been in there was detention that past Saturday, but before that, she couldn't remember. Perfect.

She walked over to the heavy doors. A janitor was standing on a ladder, prying the door open so that he could place the screw in to keep the door ajar. Claire smiled to herself, remembering. She walked past the reception desk where Ms. Taggart was placing index cards away and eyed Claire suspiciously. Claire saw the desks in front of the odd statue she never understood. People looked up, noticing her, all of them recognising her. They all quickly put their heads down, trying to avoid eye contact. Claire didn't like that and felt somewhat shamed.

She sighed softly and continued walking, wondering if she should head upstairs. There was yellow caution tape in front of the first set of stairs she passed. She looked around trying to figure out why. Repair men on ladders were trying to fix the vent overhead and she let out a chuckle, shaking her head. John was lucky he didn't break anything. _He's so destructive_, she thought, continuing on. Claire walked through the shelves, mildly interested in the book titles, but she didn't stop until she saw a table by a window. It wasn't a big table and it looked comfortable and one other person was there, reading. A small love seat was beside a window and she thought it looked incredibly comfortable.

She walked over to the sofa and sat down. The other person looked up, a girl wearing glasses, her eyes opening wide at the sight of her. Claire smiled and was about to open her mouth and say a simple "hello" but the girl quickly stood up, hurriedly shoved her things into a backpack and practically ran away, looking back for just a second before nearly tripping on a small foot stool. Claire grimaced as the stool hit against the metal bookshelves, a loud racket sounding and giving the girl even more attention.

Claire looked away, not knowing how to react. She didn't know what to say or what to do but she knew the reason why the girl ran. Claire stared out the window, it was raining and it fit her mood perfectly. That girl was exactly the kind of person she would have made fun of. She wore a dress, something similar to a smock and the colour was the colour of faded jeans. A bright yellow shirt was under the smock. The girl also had thick glasses that made her eyes pop, braces, and acne all over her face. Her socks were different colours and her shoes were mis-matched and dirty as if they were the only pair-

_Shit! Shit! SHIT!_

Claire mentally slapped herself because she actually had to tell herself to stop pointing out everything that stood out about the girl. Even in her mind, she had already made mental notes that would make that girl a perfect target for her and her friends. She wouldn't even be surprised if that was a girl she'd already picked on before, the way she ran away, Claire probably did. _For fuck's sake, Claire!_ She thought, angry and hurt and ashamed. She suddenly didn't feel very hungry anymore.

"H-hey, Claire."

She looked up and saw Brian standing a small distance away from her, a small smile riding on his face. He looked unsure and awkward as he stood nervously looking at her. Claire was genuinely happy to see him though and gave him a wide smile.

"Brian."

"Yeah." He was so awkward, "This-this, uhm, this is the last place, I thought I'd see _you_ in..."

"I wanted to be alone." Claire said with a shrug and small smile. She motioned him over, "Come have a seat."'

Brian didn't move as he fingered the book in his hands nervously, "You-you don't want t-to be alone? Anymore?"

Claire shook her head.

Brian gave her another wider smile and took a seat on the couch across from her. They didn't say anything for a few seconds until Brian spoke up, "So, uhm, hey, I saw Allison. S-she sat with me. Well, me and my friends, Larry, that-that guy Andy taped together, another friend, Teagan, who is actually a boy, but his mom liked Taegan, I mean the name Teagan, we call him Teag now, and Deborah. That's a girl. A real one."

Claire giggled at Brian's rather timid way of talking, "Is your lunch first period?"

Brian nodded, "Yeah. It's too early. I'm never that hungry. Do you have lunch, now?"

"Yeah." Claire said, sighing and reaching into her bag. She placed her meal on the table, "I'm not hungry. Want it? It's a salad."

"Thanks." Brian said, leaning forward in his chair, "I gave my lunch to Larry."

"He ate all of it?" Claire asked, picturing what Brian had during detention.

"I didn't mind. His mom's trying to make him lose wait. But shouldn't it be his choice?" Brian said, digging into the salad with the fork Claire offered him, "I mean, Larry could stand to loose some, but diets don't work."

"They don't?" Claire said, surprised.

"Nope." Brian said, the fork in his mouth as he looked thoughtful. He removed the utensil and explained, "Diets are just temporary fixes. The body is used to a certain amount of food a day. If you suddenly change that, it'll just want more and if someone breaks their plan and they often will, they'll just gain back the weight, faster. Exercise is the best solution."

"Oh..." Claire said, then, "How do you know that?"

"I read." Brian said shrugging, wiping his mouth with a napkin, "I like to read. And source. I always source what I read in case what I read are lies. Everything in a book is not necessarily true."

Pause. "You know, you were right." Claire said, looking at him.

"Right about what?" Brian asked curiously as he closed the empty plastic container, and wiping the fork off with the napkin.

"Everything." Claire shrugged again, "Everything you said about me. I'm conceited and mean and just awful. It hurt when you said it, but it's true. I just found that out today. I hate myself. I hate what I've become. Just following in familiar footsteps, I guess."

"Well, I-I don't hate you." Brian said softly. Claire looked up at him, "I mean you were pretty mean before, but things might be different, now. Allison doesn't hate you either. She told me."

This made Claire happier. Slightly. She suddenly realised she had left Nicole by herself by the cafeteria. She wondered what sort of hell she was going to catch when she sees the girls again. She sighed, placing her hands to her forehead.

"I just want to stay in here."

"You're in my next class." Brian suddenly said. Claire looked at him. She didn't know that, "Geometry. Want to-to walk together? I mean-sorry, I didn't-"

"I'd like that, Brian." Claire said, reaching for her bag and pulling the strap over her shoulder. She smiled at his surprised but happy face, "Ready?"

* * *

><p>"Bender. Come on, kid. Why do you do this?"<p>

"Do what?" John said, innocently as he leaned against the basement wall, smoking a cigarette. It was almost done and he was trying to savour every puff. Maybe this will be the last one. John smiled to himself, yeah, whatever.

"Stop being foolish." Carl said, looking at him straight in the eye. He sighed irritably as he squeezed the dirty mop liquid into the sink, "Vernon's ass is already tighter than a bass drum and you're just making it worse. You're too smart for that. Why provoke him, huh?"

John narrowed his eyes, stubbing the last of his cigarette on the doorframe and flicking it into the nearest rubbish bin, "Vernon can eat my shorts, kiss my ass, and get run over by a bus. I would celebrate and make it a national fucking holiday."

"Don't you want to get out of this shit-hole, Bender?" Carl said, dropping the mop handle and turning off the water. He turned around to face him. John squared his jaw and crossed his arms. He didn't want to hear this, "That's what you called it, didn't you?"

"I'm passing." John retorted.

"Barely." Carl said. John didn't answer and looked away. Carl walked over to him and sighed, "Look, you're angry and the world, I get that. It's done you wrong and you think there's no way out. But there is a way out. You have a choice to make, Bender, but those changes start with you." Carly poked a finger in John's chest.

John furrowed his eyebrows looking at the janitor, "The hell you know anyway, _Carl?"_

Carl smirked and turned to face the sink again, "Hey, look at me. I made my own decisions and I'm also happy. How many people can say that out loud and really mean it?"

"I hate being here." John finally said, planting his fist into a locker and making a dent.

Carl raised his eyebrows at the locker but didn't say anything about it. He walked across the room and pulled out two chairs from a pile of extra ones that were sitting behind a few broken dusty desks and other pieces of furniture. He kicked one open and motioned John to sit in it and he opened his open to sit across from him. Carl pulled his keys out of his back pocket before he sat. John was looking at him expectantly. Honestly, he was waiting for some reassurance. Carl seemed to always know what was going on in his mind, when John was incredibly close to losing all hope in changing anything about himself, his home life. Carl just knew how to bring out of him. He didn't know what it was.

Carl leaned forward in his chair, "How's Mark?"

John blinked, then half-shrugged, half-nodded, "He's good."

"Happy?"

John raised an eyebrow, "Yeah, I think so."

Carl nodded, "You sure?"

"What's with these questions, Carl?" John said, feeling his temper rising again, "He's _fine_."

"Has he been eating?"

"Of course he's fucking eating!" John yelled, sitting on the edge of his seat, angry, "What's with the fucking third degree?"

Carl leaned back in his chair and spread his hands, "Just asking. Wondering why you're so willing to leave that kid to fend for himself."

"I wonder never do that. Ever!" John said, standing up so quickly, his chair fell behind him. His finger was on Carl who was not scared and this irritated John more, "I would never leave him alone in that fucking house, never!"

"I see. You care about him." Carl said, slowly getting to his feet and crossing his arms across his chest. He was about a head taller than John, but John wasn't a coward and stood his ground, "That's why you're here, right? That's why you drag your body out of bed every morning. That's why you work so many hours at that grody bar. All for him."

"That's fucking right." John said angrily and it finally hit him, his temper gone in a whiff. _Shit..._

Carl nodded and said softly, "Yeah. It's half the battle, but you need to go all the way, or not at all. Otherwise, what's the point? Make a choice, Bender."

John furrowed his eyebrows. Fucking Carl and his fucking words of wisdom. Why the fuck was he a janitor? He looked up to see Carl already grabbing his chair to replace back on the pile. John grabbed his, closed it and laid it against Carl's. The two of them didn't say anything for awhile, John's thoughts running a mile a minute.

"So." Carl said, pulling off his keys from around his neck and putting them in the locker John had just put a dent through. He unzipped the first half of his uniform and freed his arms. He took hold of the loose sleeves and tied them in front of himself, "Who was the girl I saw you with, this morning? I mean, the one your were swatting spit with, you understand?"

John felt smug and smirked, his tongue following the edge of his teeth, "She's-she's nothing." He knew he didn't really mean that.

Carl raised an eyebrow, obviously not believing him, "Uh-huh. Listen, I've seen kids around here smooch before, that was not a passing fling. I've seen her type before, Bender. You sure you know what you're doin'?"

John paused, leaning against the wall, "She's...different. Maybe."

"Right, they're all different." Carl said, amusingly, fixing the dent on the locker, before closing it with a slam, "Until you get to know them. I'm heading out. Leaving?"

"Yeah." John said, walking out the door before looking over his shoulder, "Gotta see Mark."

"See you, Bender."

"Carl."

John wandered outside, the grounds empty except for a few stragglers waiting for their parents or whatever. He reached into his pockets, searching and cursed silently. No smokes, damn. He should stop, anyway. He grimaced at that prospect and continued to walk on, almost jogging as he crossed through the lawn and onto the sidewalk across the street. He made a right and continued on. He needed to hurry and see Mark before he went to work. He was always worried when Mark wasn't around. John had no idea what he was doing, he didn't know if he was hurt. He didn't know anything about the kid during the day. He was a good kid, he listened and maybe he understand, John didn't know. He was pretty sure though, that if _anything_ happened to Mark, _anything_ at all, the first thing John would do was search for the perpetrator and kill him. He would take no chances with him.

He finally reached the house and his room. He peered through the window, but didn't see Mark anywhere. Forcing himself not to panic, he quickly opened the window and squeezed through, his feet landing lightly in the room. He looked around, wondering where the hell he was. That's when he noticed his door. It had been smashed open and was in splinters. A piece cheap of shit that had been replaced countless times by him with his fucking money. He felt his temper rising and reached for the handle, pulling the door off its hinges, the clatter of screws falling and hitting the dirty carpet. He's getting a steel door next.

"The fuck", he whispered, annoyed and threw the door on his bed. _Where the fuck is Mark?_

His mother across the way made a sleepy noise from her permanent spot on the bed, still in front of the television. He gave her a disgusted look but knew had awaken something else.

"John! Is that you, boy?"

John swallowed and readied himself for what was coming. He only called him "boy" when he was in a particularly dangerous mood. He head his father's heavy foot steps making their way toward his room from the living room. He could hear his mother stirring, now waking up from whatever drunken, drug-induced hell she was coming from.

"The fuck you been, John?" his father said, storming forward. He looked like an older John. Used to be handsome with strong features, but all the drugs he had taken over his life left him in an old body that made him look sixty when he was really only in his forties, "I asked you a question."

"Like you fucking care." John retorted, angrily, hissing, "Where is Mark?"

"What?" his father said, his eyes red with fire, his hands in fists.

"_Mark_, you son of a bitch!" John yelled, moving past his father and looking around the house and calling for him, "Your _son_, Mark! Where is he?!"

"Don't you fucking raise your voice to me, you poor excuse for a man." his father screamed, grabbing John by the collar and pulling him forward, "The fuck you talking back to me for, huh? You sorry son of a bitch. Who the hell do you think you are, huh?"

His father was using his free hand and slapping it on John's head hard, his face, using his ring especially for impact. He smiled as John did nothing, enjoying what he was doing and provoking him, "Pussy, huh? What is it? Fucking pussy? Is that what you are? What? Can't do anything back? Huh?"

John let out a growl and with all his strength he lifted his arms and pushed his father back away from him, his shirt ripping in his father's tight grip. John's father landed heavily against the wall, smashing into a dinner tray. Utensils, plates and food fell to the ground.

"Look what you did, boy." John said in a dangerous whisper, standing up, a malicious smile playing on his lips. "This is your fault. You fucking did this, and you're going to clean it up, you fucking get that?"

"Leave him alone, David."

John turned and there stood his mother, heavy bags under her eyes and her hair a mess, her skinny arms crossed as she stared down at her feet. John remembered her in photographs as well. She used to be real pretty; prom queen, cheerleader, good student. She had everything and then she married this monster and her life was all about drugs. He hated her.

"Get the fuck back inside, Terri."

"But, David-"

"Shut up, Terri!" John's father said, angrily, "Your boy here needs to be taught a lesson."

John wasn't listening, though. In between his mother legs he saw movement and there was Mark in the distance. He was hiding under John's bed the whole time. _Fuck, that kid is smart_. John sighed in relief in seeing that kid, he felt tears in his eyes. He had thought the absolute worst. He also wasn't ready and didn't see the fist coming.

He fell back from the shock, his hand over his face. John didn't have time to react when his father reached for his already ripped shirt and threw him to the floor again, now relentlessly kicking him.

"Peek-a-boo, Mark!" John yelled in between the kicks, "Play peek-a-boo! Peek-a-boo!"

John didn't want his baby brother to see this. John tried to resist the blows, block them to see what was happening. His mother had already retreated, but he watched as Marks small feet disappeared under the bed, again. _Thank fucking Jesus Christ and god all-fucking-mighty._

"The fuck is that, you fucking queer?" His father was now yelling as he kicked him. John hid his face with his arms, his legs close to his chest but he knew it wouldn't be long now. His father was panting, losing breath and his kicks would get softer and it would be over. They did stop and John quickly stood up, moving away from his father, who was still trying to insult him in between breaths, "Is...is that...what you are...queer, huh, fucking kid...mother fucker...mother...stupid..."

John was breathing heavily as he watched his father collapse in his own mess. He tasted blood in his mouth and wiped it away with one hand, his eyes still on the bastard. David sat there, still breathing and looking at nothing. He would be done for today, but Mark wasn't safe. Not right now. He needed a place to stay. He'll figure that out later. Right now, his focus was Mark. He turned his back on his father, walked past his mother, not giving her a second glance. He took in a deep breath and let it out slowly, ignoring the pain in his chest and his face. Putting on the best smile he had, he went to the floor, grimacing from the swelling he was feeing. He looked in there and saw his brother with Ducky close by. His head was on his arms, his brown eyes staring out. God, he was so innocent.

"Hey, Marky." John said, still smiling and said in a sing-songy voice, "I found you."

Mark smiled up at him and him and lifted his head. "Can I come out?"

"Yeah, let go outside and get some food. You hungry?"

Mark nodded, crawling out and into John's arms. John lifted him and wincing with effort, he slowly stood up, feeling Mark holding onto his shirt tightly. John tried to place him gently on the bed, but Mark didn't want to let go. John closed his eyes tightly, hating everything but Mark, but he had a free hand. He turned and reached for a gym bag that he placed behind his bureau for just these occasions. He opened it and started stuffing clothes into it. He reached for the bread and pastry he had purchased earlier and stuffed those into his bag as well. He turned and walked out of his bedroom and into his brother's room where the small amount of clothing Mark had, he lifted and piled into the bag. He looked around the room, making sure he hadn't forgotten anything not that there was much. He checked to see Mark still had Ducky, he did, and walked out of Mark's room and down the hallway to the front door. He heard his father call out but ignored it as he turned the handle and walked out.

* * *

><p>Brian was home, his mother already on his case about something, but he'd forgotten what it was about already. He's gotten pretty good at that. He was in his room, looking over the school work he did that day. Easy stuff, but he still needed to practice. The last thing he wanted to do was get complacent. He pulled out a sheet of paper from a drawer by his feet, reached for one of his nicely-sharpened pencil and began to write out equations for himself. If he knew the theory, these equations would be a breeze.<p>

There was a knock on his door. "Come in."

"Hey, Brian."

Brian swivelled in his chair and looked up to see his father smiling down at him from the door.

"Hi, dad." Brian said with a smile, "What's going on?"

"Oh, nothing, just wanted to see how you're doing." his father said, hesitating, before walking into Brian's room and sitting on the edge of his bed, his large and heavy frame weighing on the mattress, "What's going on? Did you have a good day?"

Brian thought about it and then nodded his head, "Yeah, it was-it was pretty good."

"That's good." His father said, nervously tapping his fingers together.

"..Uh, was there something else?" Brian asked, raising his eyebrows after a pause.

"No, uh, no, nothing else." was the reply, and his father stood up, smacking the sides of his trousers as if looking to do something with his hands, "Oh, well, yeah, uhm, what, what are you working on, there, bud?"

"Math." Brian said, looking at him.

"Oh, math, well, hey, I used to be uh," his father said, taking in a deep breath, "I used to be pretty good at math back in my day."

"Oh, yeah?" Brian said, nodding his head, "Cool."

"What kind of uh, math?"

"Statistics and trigonometry. Linear equations, scatterplots. That sort of thing. Wanna see?"

"Oh, sure." His father replied, walking to Brian's side and looking over his shoulder.

"See, I'm trying to solve _sin_(_x_) + 2 = 3 for 0° _x_ 360°, just as with linear equations, I first isolate the variable-containing term: _sin_(_x_) + 2 = 3, _sin_(_x_) = 1. Now I use the reference angles I've memorised: _x_ = 90°. I want to solve _tan_2(_x_) + 3 = 0 for 0° _x_ 360°. I might recall that the tangent of 60° involves the square root of 3 and put an answer down, but this equation doesn't actually have a solution: _tan_2(_x_) = –3 How can the _square_ of a trig function evaluate to a _negative_ number? It can't! No solution.

"See? Pretty simple, huh?" Brian looked up to see his father blinking down at what his son had written, but it was obvious it made no sense to him, "That's okay, thanks, dad, you did help me figure it out. I find teaching is the best way to learn something."

"Math's changed, huh?" His father said, giving an awkward laugh.

Brian nodded let out a feeble chuckle, "Yeah, I guess so."

"Okay, well, I'm going to help your mother with dinner and I'll, I guess, I'll talk to you later."

"Sure, dad." Brian said and he watched as his father left the room and closed the door softly behind him.

Brian looked at the equation he did before placing his pencil down and interlocking his fingers behind his head. _Wow_, he thought, _that was such an awkward conversation._ Brian, paused, wondering why his father was suddenly so interested in what his son was up to. His father was a jock, rugby and swimming. It's what he grew up to be it's what he was bred for, and he wanted a son that was going to be just like him and then he ended up with Brian. Anyone could tell his father used to be some sort of sport player, he just had a gut now.

Brian amused himself thinking what it might have been like to have grown up like Andy. He would have ruled the whole school, popular with guys and girls and he wouldn't fall over himself if he wanted to ask a girl out, either. They would flock to him. Brian frowned. He also would have been a jerk, picked on dweebs by taping their asses together and kicked people while they were down. No, he decided, he would rather be nice and insignificant than popular and a dumbass.

He winced. Turns out not all of them are dumbasses. Andy wasn't. He wondered where he was. Probably working out int he gym or whatever the hell sports do during the day. He was glad Allison was so happy. He didn't think he'd ever seen her smile so much before. If she ever did smile before. He didn't know where John was either, but Claire had mentioned him, as he can actually say out loud that he sat beside her in geometry class, too and helped her with math equations. There were whispers, too, but Claire merely turned in her chair and glared at them and it stopped. It was amazing. He smiled to himself, hoping that this would continue, everyone's friendships. He hoped that it this wasn't the best it was going to be. He hoped everyone would evolve and grow, despite the obvious differences. He bit his lips, knowing days don't last forever, either, but he shook his head from such thinking.

* * *

><p><em>Long, emotional chapter. I hope you liked it.<em>

_In all seriousness folks, if you are aware of a problem, have the courage and do something about it, anonymous or not. Call the **local hotlines**, use the **internet** and make a change in someone's life. Just google (or whatever you use) "abuse hotline" and everything is there at your fingertips._


	4. Chapter 4

_I hope you don''t mind the pace I've been writing this. I know it's a bit slow, but it's deliberate and for good reason, I think._

* * *

><p>Allison walked quickly past the carefully well-kept and primed front lawn of her parent's home before stopping in front of the big red door that led her inside. Her hood covering her face, she rummaged into her bag and started searching for her keys. Allison always thought the same things while she looked, <em>why do I have to carry so much shit?<em> When she finally found them, she rammed the house key into the lock on the handle and turned. It didn't move. Allison opened her eyes wide as she tried to turn it again. The lock refused.

Allison swallowed, a panic starting to settle in. She stopped for a moment, telling herself to relax and looked through the keys she had on her ring; bedroom, storage, basement, work, work, work...parents'. Allison knew her anxiety level was rising but taking a few deep breaths she placed the key back inside the lock and licking her lips in anticipation, she twisted her wrist, but the handle did not twist with her.

_What the hell?!_ She yelled in her head.

Allison hesitated before raising her hand and knocking on the door softly at first, than louder. She reached for the doorbell and pressed it. Nothing, no one was home. That wasn't unusual.

She looked around her, her eyes falling on the house next door. Mrs. Blackburn, a prissy and bitter old woman, whose only existence was to make everyone's life a living hell. Mrs. Blackburn's husband was in the war, but died recently from a heart attack, leaving her alone with two, idiot grown sons. They still lived with her. They had also joined the military but were home often and whenever they were, they acted like the sports at school, Allison being a target for the usual name-calling. Although, she was never bothered, because they didn't quite have the same balls the jocks did at school; they had no one to impress, here. Allison, on the other hand, had no problem leaving burning dog shit on Blackburn's front porch or calling the police on her for throwing parties and being too loud.

Allison turned her to head to the other side of her parents' house. She wasn't sure who lived there besides a family of four. They didn't seem to come out of their house much, and when they did, they never spoke to anyone. Allison was sure they were part of a cult that worshipped sadism, or a family of ghosts that no one else could see but her. As usual, they weren't around either. She looked across the street, no one else was outside. It was a relatively quiet neighbourhood, and she didn't really expect an audience, which she would've hated, anyway. She sighed softly to herself frowning. The pulled out her keys and threw them angrily into her bag before making her way to the back of the house.

Allison stopped in front of the tall brown gate of the fence and looked around, wondering how she was going to reach the latch. Two large rubbish bins were sitting quietly in a corner beside the fence, one for regular, the other for recycling. She narrowed her eyes and began to climb. At first it was difficult. There was not much trash inside the bins and they had almost fallen over, but she managed to keep them steady as she balanced over the lids, denting them as her feet made contact with the plastic. She reached the fence and swung her feet over, lightly landing on the other side. Before she straightened up, she reached for a rock that was part of her mother's herb garden. Allison walked over to the sliding glass doors, prepared to shatter the glass so she could get inside the damn house.

Allison reached over the doors, pulling them to make sure they were locked. One of them was, however, the other was not. She let out a sigh of relief and frustration and pulled it open, the warm air inside touching her skin as she stepped in. She heard the alarm and ran over to the front door to turn it off, the rock still in her hands. She frowned, biting in her molars. Before heading upstairs to her room she dropped the rock not so lightly on the wooden dining room table and ran up the stairs, her anger evident on her loud stomps. She fumed down the hallway and reached for the handle to the attic. She pulled it down, moving to the side for the ladder to slide out. She pulled the strap of her bag off her shoulder and threw her bag into the attic. She then climbed up the stairs before reaching down to pull the ladder back up.

Still feeling quite angry, she slammed the door to her attic room closed and sat on her bed, her arms crossed. This wasn't the first time they had changed the locks and it wasn't the first time they didn't tell her either. Or second. Or third. Her father was paranoid about everything; his looks, his car, the house so he often changed everything about himself, a new outlook on life every time something wasn't going his way. Which meant a new look, a new car, a new room. How his parents managed to survive without going bankrupt was beyond her. Although, Allison assumed the change of the locks was her mother's idea; one of the neighbours had been robbed this past week and dad wasn't losing his mind over anything.

Allison looked around her room, her drawings covering almost every inch of her wall. If there were no drawings there were murals of her own private fantasy world. She never allowed anyone up in her room, not that anyone wanted to visit. Then again, she didn't want anyone to visit, anyway. She sighed softly and reached for her bag for her school books. She had homework and she didn't want to do it. She placed her textbooks on her desk and reached for the large round window that was the only source of light into the room. She turned the handle to unlock it and pushed the window open, feeling the cool breeze against her face. She could see just over the houses of her neighbourhood.

She smiled softly and turned to her bag again, pulling out her keys. She opened her door again and slowly let the ladder slide out, cautious if anyone was walking underneath. No one was in the house, but it was more out of habit. She made her way down the ladder, then turned to walk down the main stairs of the house. She walked into the kitchen and headed for the fridge, wondering what she should eat. She looked at her watch, she didn't have work that day, but wished she did. She opened the fridge door open and peered in, making a face. Weird diet foods for her mother and odd casseroles her father liked to experiment with. Absolutely nothing looked very appetising, and decided to order a pizza. She was about to reach for the phone on the wall when she heard the front door unlock.

Her temper flared as she listened to her parents coming through the door.

"It was good seeing them again. Remember what we all promised each other during college?" Mum.

"Yeah. Oh, the alarm wasn't set. Did you set it before we left?" Dad.

"Of course I did. I always do."

"Maybe you forgot."

"Maybe. Ugh, let's just put these bags down, my arms feel like they're going to fall off."

Alison was leaning against the wall beside the phone when her parents made it into the kitchen, laughing about something that was apparently very hilarious. They didn't notice Allison standing there until her mother looked up from placing the massive amount of shopping bag on the table.

"Oh, Allison." Her mother said, looking into the bags, "Hello, dear."

"Why is this rock here?" her father said, frowning, and picking it up, "Oh, my table. Damn it."

"Hmm, that looks like one from my garden." Her mother said, taking a look at the rock and still searching through her recent purchases, "They're coming out rather nicely aren't they? My asparagus, I mean. They're just so healthy."

"Yes, yes..." Allison's father said, clearly distracted. He had placed his thumb on his tongue and rubbing the mark Allison left on the table, "Very nice. Damn, I don't know how I'll get this off."

"Can't you just repaint over it, Alex?" her mother said, sounding bored, as she pulled out pillow cushions and sheets.

"No, Lisa, I can't." Her father said with a sigh, and giving up, "Might need a new table."

"Oh, I don't think that's necessary. Maybe-"

Allison finally exploded. She had been tugging at the edges of the old house key, trying to pull it off her key rings, her thumbs were bleeding. She threw her now free key against the wall behind them, making them both jump in surprise. They slowly turned their heads to her as if they just noticed her.

"Thanks for telling me you changed the damn locks again!"

"Oh, sorry, Allison, dear." Her mother said, giving her stupid smile Allison hated, "It won't happen again."

"You've said that before, _mother_." Allison said, glaring at her, "Three times in fact. Did you forget your _daughter_ lives here?"

"Don't talk to your mother that way, Allison." Her father warned her.

Allison turned her eyes on him, "Oh, hi, dad. Didn't see you there. What's _your_ excuse?"

"Christ, I don't have time for this." her father said, turning away and walking toward the stairs.

"Of course you don't, you don't have time for anything besides yourself!" Allison yelled at his retreating back. Allison looked at her mother who was saying nothing, still searching through the bags as if nothing happened.

"By the way," Allison started, crossing her arms, "I tripped on your asparagus because I had to jump over the fence in order to get inside the house. I might have killed them."

"Allison!" her mother said angrily and ran past her to the sliding glass doors.

She was lying, but she didn't care. She moved over to her mothers purse and pulled the house key off the keyring before making her way to the stairs, down the hallway and into her room. It was only when she closed her attic door did she realise she had forgotten about the pizza. She sighed, she didn't want to go back down there. Not until her parents went to bed anyway. She felt her stomach rumble as she stood and sat miserably at her desk. She pushed her books away and reached for her sketchbook and pencils.

* * *

><p>Andy received the almost exact conversation he had foretold in his head when his father found out about his foot. Right after he arrived home from school, his father took him to the nearest emergency room and x-rays were taken of his foot. Nothing was broken to his father's and secretly, to Andy's relief, but the doctor warned them both he would have to stay off his foot for at least two weeks and even after, his foot was going to be tender and should ease back into sports for at least a month. His father was not happy.<p>

The car ride was tense and silent, with a few noises of frustration from his father's mouth and mutters Andy couldn't understand. Although, Andy was sure anything else his father said would not make him feel any lower. Andy felt guilty, but he was also angry with himself. He should have been paying attention to where he was going. His thoughts of Allison were already running through his mind much faster now, but their association was not the same as it was that morning. They were more passionate and cross-filled. She had become his distraction and he didn't realise it yet, but he was slowly poisoning any association with her.

When they finally got home, his father opened his car door with a huff and stormed out of it, throwing the door closed with a slam. Andy was still in the car and watched as his father disappeared into the house. Andy opened the car door and pulled out his crutches from beside his seat and placed them on the concrete driveway. He shifted his weight so that he landed on his good foot, and hopped with it to free the other. A safe distance away, he shoved his shoulder into the car door and closed it. He hopped over to this front door where his mother was already waiting for him.

"Oh, Andy, what happened?" His mother asked, nervously, reaching for him.

"Don't baby him, Delores." his father said from inside, watching the scene, "It's what he deserves."

Andy's mother backed away giving him a small, sad smile before following him inside. Andy swallowed as he stepped in, his ankle starting to hurt again. His doctor had given him a prescription for inflammatory medicine, but his father refused to take him to the pharmacy saying Andy had to suffer through the pain of his mistakes. He sighed softly, heading for the couch and fell into it, lifting his foot to place on the coffee table.

"Don't you put that foot on the table, Andrew." His father said, glaring at him, "Have some manners."

Andy stared at him, then put his foot down, the blood falling again.

"George, stop it." his mother said, sounding annoyed, "He needs to keep his foot elevated and you know that. Put your foot up, Andy."

His father didn't say anything, just crossed his arms as Andy hesitantly placed his foot back on the table, pressure leaving almost immediately, "Do you have homework?"

Andy nodded, "Yes, sir."

"Then what are you sitting around for?" George said, looking at him and pointing upstairs toward his room, "Get to it. God knows, you won't be going to school on sports any more, huh?"

Andy frowned looking away before reaching for his crutches to stand up again.

"George, will you cut it out?" His mother finally said, forcefully pulling the crutches out of Andy's hands, "I am not going to make him walk up the stairs. And neither are you. What is wrong with you?"

"Ma, it's okay." Andy started saying as he gave a sidelong glance at his very upset father, "I can just-"

"Andy, shut up." His mother said as she practically threw the crutches back on the sofa. Andy felt taken aback, his mother didn't often talk to him like this. She placed her hands on her hips and glared back at her husband, "I said 'no'."

It looked as if Andy's father was going to say something back, but he just shook his head thinking better of it and walked away in a huff, throwing his hands up in the air. He heard his mother sigh and drop her hands from her sides. She looked at Andy and pursed her lips, sitting beside him. She looked at her son before saying anything, patting his leg lightly.

"You okay?"

Andy squared his jaw. No. "Yeah, I'm okay."

"Don't lie to me." his mother warned, teasingly.

Andy nodded his head.

"Okay." His mother said with pursed lips. She sighed again and stood up, "Are you hungry?"

"A little." Andy said, looking at her.

She nodded, "Get started on your homework and I'll start dinner."

"Thanks, Ma." Andy said, softly.

She gave him a nod and smile before walking away. He winced as pain started creeping up his leg again. The doctor had taken off the strap and given him a boot that would keep his ankle placed, but he still couldn't walk on it, which was expected. He hated feeling so useless. He frowned, realising his bag with his school things were probably upstairs; his mother was incredibly tidy. He leaned his back against the couch and sighed. Guess he won't be finishing his homework tonight, either. His thoughts of unfinished homework brought him back to Allison. He cursed silently, looking at his hands, blaming her. He closed his eyes briefly, before opening them again. Why did she have to be so...why did she...just...why?

He didn't stop thinking about her, either when he tried to sleep. He tossed and turned on the pullout bed from the couch he was sitting on earlier. That was cause for another argument from his parents, his father trying to keep him from living down there, and his mother being very adamant about her stance in keeping Andy off the stairs. In all honesty, a strange turn of events for his mother to stand up to her husband so strongly and it was a great relief in Andy's eyes. His mother had even gone to his room and picked up his heavy bag to place beside his feet. He did manage to finish his homework, just barely, but his thoughts were revolving around Allison and how she was the cause of everything that had happened that day.

Andy woke up early the next morning to the sounds of breakfast his mother was making for the three of them. His father and mother sat at the table in the kitchen with Andy. He had replaced the bed before sitting at the table, feeling somewhat useful and his mother thanked him, but also received a retort from his father for taking so long. A tense silence filled the kitchen, his parents still quite upset with each other. When his father was done, he stood up from his chair, slamming things and moving around in a huff, not saying another word to Andy before leaving the kitchen and slamming the front door shut.

His mother suddenly dropped her fork on her plate and placed a hand to her forehead, "God."

Andy didn't know what to say.

"You ready for school, Andy?" His mother asked, now standing up and taking the empty plates away and into the sink.

"Yeah." Andy replied, standing again, taking care not to put weight on his foot.

"You know why he's acting this way, right?" His mother finally said, pushing the tap handle up for water.

"Stop, Ma." Andy was feeling frustrated.

"What?" his mother said, looking at him.

"You're trying to rationalise everything he does. Just stop." Andy said, now leaning in his crutches.

"But, Andy-" his mother started, turning off the water.

"And this has nothing to do with Ryan, either." Andy told her, turning away, "So just, stop."

Ignoring the face his mother was making, he opened his front door and picked up the bag beside it. Placing the strap over his shoulder, he hopped his way out, the pain thumping in his ankle. He hobbled over to his car before reaching into his pocket and pulling out the keys. He placed it into the door and threw his crutches and bag into the passenger seat. He slid into his car and tuned it on. From the corner of his eye, he saw him mother standing by the door a hand to her mouth, but he pretended not to see her and roared out of the driveway.

"Yo, Andy! Did you break it?"

Andy shook his head, a smile on his face as he greeted his friends again at school. They were seemingly concerned as they saw him, but also making fun of him, which he expected and he knew it was all in good fun. He hopped with his friends to the entrance of the school pausing in front of the stairs. He placed his hand on the railway and on the other side, Paul placed Andy's arm around his shoulders, and together they both made their way up toward the front doors. Inside, Andy was surrounded by other friends from different teams and girls all, apparently, concerned for his well-being. Others in the hallway also gave him supportive looks and went on their way, his teammates surrounding him like an entourage. He turned in his crutches to head for his first class when he spotted Allison.

She was slowly walking out of the main office. He stopped as he watched her, feeling something strange wash over him. Vaguely wondering what she was doing in there, he did the only thing he could and called out to her, "Allison."

She stopped in her tracks and looked around slowly, her face somewhat hidden under her hood. Andy could hear whispers behind him but ignored them as he hobbled toward her. Allison finally saw who called her and she had a soft grin on her face until she saw his foot and her look became concerned and this bothered Andy. He didn't know why, but he didn't like it and as he made his way to her, he could feel himself getting angrier. Allison took a few steps forward, but stopped when she was a few feet away, her face changing slightly.

"Don't look at me that way." Andy told her, sharply stopping in front of her.

Allison furrowed her eyebrows looking at him, obviously very confused and with good reason, but Andy wasn't sure what was wrong with him or what he should say. So, he continued moving past her. Allison just stood there, her face getting increasingly nervous and he was very aware of the look she was giving him. She was slowly reaching for her hood to cover her face, taunts and whispers in the background.

"Who is she, Andy?" said someone behind him. Dan, "Hey, isn't she that weird girl that drinks pig's blood or something?"

"Shut the fuck up, Dan." Andy said, stopping to look at him, angrily.

"What, man?"

But the damage was done. Andy turned his head to see Allison already walking away, her face completely hidden in her hood. He called out to her, but she ignored him and turned a corner, gone. Did she hear what Dan said? What was he trying to do? Why was he punishing her? She did absolutely nothing and he just went and fucked up everything. He wanted to go after her, but he didn't move.

"_Shit_." he said softly, leaning against the wall and feeling very stupid.

* * *

><p>"Nicole is mad at you, you know?" Deborah told her.<p>

"Is she?" Claire said, distractedly. School was over and she was sitting on a bench outside the school, going over her presentation for Mr. Wrinkler's class tomorrow.

"You left her by herself in the cafeteria. She felt like an idiot." Deborah continued, sounding very self-important, "What do you have to say for yourself? Claire!"

"What?" Claire asked, annoyed. Deborah had slammed her hand on the paper Claire was working on, interrupting her thoughts.

Deborah made a noise through her teeth, "What's wrong with you? You've been distracted all day and hiding out in the library. The fucking library? What the hell? And what's with the dweeb kid I saw you hanging out with. Is he your boyfriend, Claire?"

"Leave me alone, Deborah." Claire told her, ignoring the surprised look on her friend's face and stared down at her paper, determined to finish her thoughts.

"Fuck you, Claire." Deborah finally said making another noise and stood up from her spot on the bench. "You're such a bitch."

Claire looked up to see Deborah walking away, probably about to tell the others what she had just said. Typical. She bit her lower lip nervously, wondering if she should have apologised. These were her friends, weren't they? No, Claire thought, she had decided they really weren't. It was too late, anyway, Deborah was gone. She sighed and shrugged her shoulders, too distracted to think anymore. She'd finish it when she got home. She stood up from her spot and gathered her things, placing them into her bag. She wrapped her coat closely around her and pulled the strap of her bag over her shoulders. She sighed and walked to her car, looking around every so often. She had to be honest with herself; Claire worked outside because she wanted to see John. She was hoping he was close by, looking for her too. She sighed, shaking her head, he's not like the others, is he? She found herself at her car, not even realising it. She reached into her purse and pulled out her key. She opened up her door and slid inside to turn the car on. Claire pulled on the door and gave the school grounds one more hopeful look before closing it and leaving.

When she arrived home, she saw both her parents' cars in the drive way. Claire parked her car behind her mother's and stepped out, reaching for her bag. Her keys in her hands, she walked up the long driveway and into the long archway that led her to the front door. Claire turned the keys and opened the first door that led her into a mini greenhouse before she reached the final doors into the house. Her mother had installed this a few years ago, a new hobby she had taken up at that time. Unfortunately, the plants her mother tried to grow she had forgotten in the matter of three months. That was longer than most things she decided to take up. Claire ended up taking care of the plants herself, but her mother never seemed to notice.

Claire took a quick peek at the plants before she opened the final set of double doors into the house. She stepped in and quietly closed the door behind her. Her heels clicking on the floor, she walked into the kitchen where she knew Andrea would be, looking forward to a friendly face, but she wasn't there. It was her father.

He was sitting quietly at the counter, drinking a small cup of coffee and reading from the newspaper. When she walked in, he looked up and gave her a smile.

"Hey, sweetheart." He said, placing his paper down and reaching for her. Claire gave him a small smile, planting a kiss on her father' cheek, "Did you have a good day at school?"

"Where's Andrea?" Claire asked, not really wanting to answer the question.

"Oh, she's gone home." Her father said, picking up the paper again, "I was home and she had finished the chores, already. And something about her kid being sick or...something."

"Her son, Marcus, you mean? He has pneumonia, daddy." Claire told him, feeling concerned.

"Oh, does he?" Her father said, distracted as he read the paper.

Claire sighed softly, "Is mum here?"

"Hmm, how's that?" her father replied, taking a sip from his coffee.

"Mum. Is she home?" Claire said, slowly, her frustration filling her chest.

"I don't know, I'm assuming she's upstairs, drinking. Haven't seen her." Her father said, looking at her over his reading glasses, "Did you look upstairs?"

"I just got here, daddy." Claire muttered as she walked away, her father making a noise, not paying attention.

Claire walked to the stairs of her house and climbed it until she reached her mother's room. She peeked into the room and listened. She could hear a television, one of the many some soap operas her mother had a strange obsession with. She stood between her mother's room and her own, wondering whether she should even go in there. Her mother could either be splayed out on her bed, fully clothed and drunk, or she could be sitting on her sofa, fully clothed and drunk. It might be mean of her not to say hello, though. Claire shook her head, turned in the hallway and walked to her room.

She turned the handle of her bedroom door and walked in, dropping her bag on the floor before allowing herself to fall on her bed. She kicked off her shoes and turned on her side, thinking. She did catch hell from Steph and Deborah when they cornered her before the last class -English- they all shared together. Steph was angry because Claire backed off on a promise and Deborah is often simply just cruel. Claire closed her eyes and placed a hand on her forehead, feeling annoyed. During the confrontation she didn't say anything, taking in all the insults, passive aggressive guilt trips, and whatever else they threw at her. She should have yelled at them, or screamed at them, at least put them in their place, but she couldn't. She hated that she was being yelled at for what was apparently, a life-threatening event. Claire opened her eyes and frowned, hating them. She sat up and reached for her phone, but she paused, her hand on the receiver. Who was she going to call? She literally had no one.

Claire furrowed her eyebrows then picked up the phone and dialed Andrea's phone number. Andrea had given Claire her number a long time ago, just in case Claire wanted to talk about anything, but she never did. For once, Claire's thoughts were about someone else's problems and not herself. Claire's problems at school seemed completely petty in regards to a sick, young boy. Andrea did sound somewhat surprised to hear Claire's vice on the other line but seemed happy to talk. Claire asked Andrea how she was, how Marcus was, how her husband was. She asked Andrea whether her other son, Jason, had gotten on his school's basketball team. She asked whether Andrea's mother had a good birthday or not.

After she hung up the phone, she was happier than before the phone call. Claire stood up from the bed and reached for her books from her bag. She pulled them out and moved across her room to place them on her desk. She then walked to her vanity and sat on its stool. She stared at her face, not liking what she saw. She looked pale and depressed. She made herself smile. It didn't work; she looked miserable and that's exactly how she felt. She placed her hands under her chin, her eyes locating the diamond earring. She picked it up and stared at it between her fingers, her thoughts returning to John and wondering whether he still had the one she gave him.

It was a gift from her father, his apology when she had discovered his first office-affiliated affair. When he had given the Tiffany earrings to her, she found them to be completely worthless. When she had told her friends about the earrings, not only did they completely disregard the fact her father had an affair, but they told her she should wear them, and, well, Claire did. They were real Tiffany diamonds and that was much more important than her father's fling, which is what he called it. This was about ten years ago, when her parents began to have problems, at least when Claire was old enough to notice. Between then and now, Claire had lost count about how many people her father slept with, because she just didn't care anymore and her mother pretty much gave up as well.

But her mother wasn't completely innocent, either. She was also having affairs, but hers lasted longer, at least, two so far. Her mother also brought them home, in full view of her husband, not caring where he was. When Claire found out there was another man in the house that not her father, her mother gave her a brand new car, something her father had been promising Claire since she learned to drive. The second affair from her mother, Claire was allowed to decorate her room however she wanted, with whatever she wanted.

Claire was still holding the earring between her fingers, finding it to have much greater value now than it ever did, but she also felt disgusted with herself. She took whatever her parents gave her and used it. She realised she was enabling the behaviour because she took the earrings, the car, the new room, and whatever expensive gifts her parents showered her with. Claire sighed and gently placed her lone earring back on the vanity.

* * *

><p>"Wanna see Aunt Tess, Mark?" John was telling his baby brother as soothingly as he could.<p>

Mark said nothing, nuzzling his face into John's shoulder. John sighed, pushing himself forward, now. The adrenaline that had been pumping through his veins half an hour ago had allowed himself to walk faster than usual, but now he was wearing thin and he truly felt the bruises. He wanted very much to switch sides with Mark, but the kid refused to let go of his shirt. He had finally made it to the bar and let out a sigh of relief before shifting the bag over his arm and reaching the handle.

"Sorry, I'm late." John announced loudly as he walked into the dark bar. The smell of whiskey and cigarettes was strong inside and he placed his bag on the bar, his hand over Mark's face.

"Hey, you can't bring a kid here!" accused someone from the bar.

"Sit down and shut up, Steve!" John heard Tess yell. Steve sat and grumbled something under his breath. Tess ignored him and walked over to John from the other side, "Come around the bar, John."

John reached for his bag again and walked around to the other side of the bar, where Tess was waiting for him, the bar door opened. When he walked down the small set of stairs, he followed her into another door, down another set of longer stairs and finally reaching the cool basement. Tess reached over her head and pulled the string for the lightbulb from the ceiling and looked at him.

"Oh god, John." Tess said, staring at him, "What the-what happened?"

John shrugged, not caring to go into the details, "Was in a fight."

"No kidding, Bender." Tess said, staring at him, then turning to Mark, smiling toothily, "Hey, Marky, Marky. How are you?"

Mark recognising Tess, gave her a small smile and looked away. Tess let out a soft chuckle as John placed Mark on the table in the middle of the room. It took a minute before Mark let go and sat on the able, Ducky still in his mouth. John took off his coat and wrapped it around his brother, before reaching for his bag and opening it to retrieve the pastry to hand to Mark.

"So," Tess started, her arms crossed under her rather voluptuous bosom and she knew it. She said they were the best money-maker she ever had, and she was not afraid to show them off, either. She leaned against the doorway and looked at John, her eyebrows slightly raised, "need a place to stay?"

"Just for a day." John said, feeling grateful as he looked at her, "Just until I get things handled and he'll be out of your hair."

"It's fine, John, my kid will be with me tomorrow, so the two of them can play together."

"Can't thank you enough, Tess." John said, walking to her, happier knowing Mark was going to be fine for almost 24 hours. He smiled at the woman teasingly, "unless..."

Tess gave him a face, "Is that all you think about? Get yourself a girlfriend, John. And not one of the floozies I usually see you with."

"What's wrong with you?" John said, smirking at her, then paused, "I like floozies."

"I'm too old and _you_ are not my type." Tess told him, rolling her eyes, "Now, get yourself busy moving those kegs from the back. I'm going need you to bring them up tonight."

"Sure." John said, then he hesitated before calling her back, "Wait, Tess, I'm...I need an advance..."

"Another one?" Tess said, walking back down the basement steps. She looked at him questioningly, "John, I can't keep doing this. It's your second one this month."

"Yeah, I know, but...I need it." John said, looking at her seriously, hating himself.

"Damn it, John, for what?" Tess started and John was about to answer 'a new thicker door' but she brought up her hand and said, "No..no, don't tell me, but just think about Mark, okay? He's all you've got."

"He's all I think about, Tess." John said, looking over his shoulder at Mark who was sitting quietly with Ducky in his mouth again, the pastry gone.

Tess sighed loudly and pursed her lips before nodding her head, then, "Did you eat?"

John just looked at her, not wanting say anything out loud, because that would just mean everything that's happened to him is true.

"Alright, get to work and I'll be done in a minute with some food." Tess said, stomping back up the stairs.

John let out a sigh of relief and wandered over to Mark who was staring at him. John gave him a smile and reached for the bread he had stored in the bag as well and opened up the package. He pulled out a slice and ripped it apart, handing a large piece to Mark. Mark dropped Ducky and allowed John to stuff the bread inside it. John chuckled as he watched Mark chew on the bread, letting the large piece fall freely from his mouth. He watched Mark pick it up and start chewing on it again. John stuffed his own into his mouth, reached for another slice and walked toward the kegs. He grunted and strained as he pulled and pushed the kegs to line up beside the basement stairs. The work was harder this time because his bruises would not allow him to forget them.

It wasn't until all 8 kegs were by the stairs did Tess finally come down the stairs, two full plates in her hands. She placed them on the table Mark was sitting at with two empty cups. She reached into her apron and pulled out two cans of coke and a set of napkins.

"Thanks, Tess." John told her.

Tess gave him a small smile and made her way back up the stairs.

"Look what Aunt Tess got us." John said, enthusiastically, his stomach growling from the smell of his plate. Tess had given him a nice burger with a side of chips and Mark was given a plate of macaroni and cheese. Mark was staring at his plate, hungrily, waiting for John. John reached for a spoon and gave it to Mark who took it awkwardly, "Looks good, huh?"

He watched Mark place his spoon into the macaroni and slowly tried to balance a single noodle as it made its way to his mouth. Mark tried to keep his eye on the spoon until it disappeared into his mouth. John smiled as he reached for the soda can and poured into a sippy cup for his brother; it was a cup Tess's young son used. He opened his own can and poured for himself before reaching for his burger and taking a large bite out of it. The two of them ate in silence, Mark every so often missing his mouth and making a mess, causing John to laugh and wipe his brother's face with a napkin. By the time the two of them were finished, Mark was getting sleepy and his eyes were falling as he tried to stay up. John wiped his hands and reached for his other jacket he had taken off while he was moving the kegs. He folded it and made it into a pillow, gently, pushing Mark onto the table. The first jacket he had placed around his bother was on the floor. He picked it up and placed it around Mark who was already sound asleep.

John sighed softly, and walked to the back again, deciding to clean up the basement, his eyes on his brother every so often. John kept himself busy while ignoring his pain. Cleaning the basement was not only a distraction but it was a way to pay back Tess. She was the only one that hired him nearly four years ago when he needed it the most, paying him under the table. As much as he didn't want to, times like these was when he really needed to depend on someone and he knew he could trust her. He wondered if Tess had figured out what really happens to him. She never asked questions, she simply inferred, but he neither agreed nor disagreed. What was the point? She helped him when he needed it, and he wanted to help her as often as he could, that was all that was necessary.

John stepped back as he finished sweeping the floor, admiring his work. The shelves were up and neatly placed, tables were folded in and neatly placed against the back wall, chairs were stacked over each other and whatever things he found he placed on the shelves. Tess could deal with them as she saw fit. He heard footsteps coming down the stairs and turned around.

"Wow." Tess said, looking at John's handwork and smiling at him, "Looks real good, thanks a lot, Bender."

"Anything for you, Tess." John said, placing the broom against the wall beside the basement stairs and tying up rubbish bag.

"Good. Bring up the kegs and place them against the bar, will you?" Tess said, heading over to Mark, "I'll keep an eye on him. Mike's already up there."

"Yeah." John did, although this was much harder to do, but he pulled and pushed, grunting and shoving the kegs until they were all up the stairs and by the bar. Wiping the sweat from his face, he walked down the steps and said, "Done."

"Alright." Tess said, pulling off her apron, "I'm closing the bar early."

"You sure?" John said, looking at her. This bar was hers and it was her only income.

"Yeah, it ain't that busy right now; it's Monday." Tess said, shrugging as she walked around the table and walking back up, "So, come on up when you're ready and I'll give you a ride to my place."

* * *

><p>"Do you have homework?"<p>

"Yes." Brian always had homework.

"Do you have any tests coming up?"

"Yes." Brian had a math quiz and English test in a two days. Easy stuff.

"Are you ready for them?"

Brian wanted to say no, but he muttered, "Yeah."

"'_Yes_'", Brian. Talk properly."

Brian frowned, "Yes."

"You had better be ready."

That was their car ride. It was always the same. His mother drilling him questions about school after she picks Brian up, his sister beside him, turning her head between her mother and her brother as if she were watching a tennis match. Sometimes Brian's sister would speak up to get a rise of her brother, but she was usually pretty quiet, focused on playing with her barbie dolls or whatever.

Brian could only assume his mother was pissed he still received detention that past Saturday. Brian also knew her anger wasn't going to go away for awhile. Not unless he did something make up for it, like graduate valedictorian. He used to be obsessed with knowing who was getting top grades. He was really competitive against his friends, but then, it didn't seem like that big a deal. Now, that he was a senior, his mother was ragging on him to focus on his grades harder than ever, and he was slowly losing interest. He just didn't care anymore because he knew there were more important things. It wasn't the detention that changed his mind, although it did reinforce thoughts that had been swimming around in there for awhile. Some darker than others.

When they all arrived at the house, Brian opened his car door, his backpack sitting on one shoulder. He paused in his tracks and turned around to see Mary struggling to get out of the truck. She was wearing her ballet uniform and her pink tutu seemed to be stuck on the seat. Brian sighed before walking over to her as she slowly fell to the pavement on her feet.

"You good?" Brian asked her.

Mary nodded her head, used her small strength to push the door shut and ran to the other side of the car where her mother was waiting with a smile by the front door. It quickly turned to a frown when she eyed Brian.

"Brian! Hurry up! You have homework to do!"

"I was-I-" Brian started, feeling exasperated.

"No talk-back, mister!" His mother said, glaring, "Get moving. Now!"

Brian could feel his shoulders deflate, his eyes blurred with anger. He hitched up his backpack once more on his shoulder and slowly made his way around the car, following his sister into the house. He could hear his mother talking rapidly about disappointments and G.P.A's and something else, but Brian didn't understand anything she said. He ran past her and stomped on the stairs, ignoring his mother's voice that was telling him to stop running. Brian threw his backpack into his room before throwing himself on his bed.

"Hey, hey, Brian?" His father.

Brian set up and walked out of his room, leaning against the banister and staring down to the ground floor, "Yeah?"

His father walked to where he could see his son, his hands in his pockets, "Someone called you about half an hour ago. An...Alice? Allison?"

Brian said nothing, then, "...Re-really?"

"Who is Allison, Brian?" His mother wandered beside her husband and looked up, her arms crossed.

Brian thought fast, "Classmate...she's...new, and she's a lab partner. We have a project together and she might be asking to work on it, today."

"When is this project due?" his mother asked, looking at her son suspiciously, "What is it about?"

"Tom-tom..Thursday." Brian said, "It's a diorama of the ocean and Ms. Oliver said we should starting working on it today if we want a good grade."

"I see." His mother said, giving him a look.

Before she could say anything else, Brian made his way down the stairs and looked at his father, "Did you take down a number?"

"Uh, yeah, yeah." His father said, walking back to the kitchen. He reached for a scarp of paper and gave it to Brian, a small, strange, smile on his face, "Here you go."

"Thanks, dad." Brian said and reached for the receiver. He could feel his mother's eyes on the back of his neck, but he ignored it, waiting as the hone ring.

There were about six rings before Brian realised he should probably hang-up but he was hoping the next ring would be the next, or the next one.

"Hellooo?" a woman's voice rang out, almost singing.

Brian didn't answer right away and hear another "hello" before he opened his mouth, "Hi, yes, can I-I talk to Allison?"

"Allison?" said the woman sounding confused, then she gave a small breathy laugh and said, "Yes, Allison, of course. I will...go get her."

Brian widened his eyes, assuming this woman was Allison's mother. He chuckled to himself, wondering what exactly what had happened for Allison to be the way she was. Although, Brian decided, he would rather have down-to-earth Allison for a friend than some airhead, he assumed his mother was. He turned around to see his own mother still watching him from her seat at the table, but he turned away again, ignoring the looks she gave him. It was awhile before he heard the phone picked up again and Allison's soft voice came through.

"Brian?"

"Hey, Allison, lab...partner..."

He heard Allison pause, then giggle, "Lab partner?"

"Yeah, sure, we can work on the diorama today. Ms. Oliver is a real pain in the butt, huh?"

"Oh, Christ, Brian." Allison said, sounding amused, then she sighed, "I don't want to be here, anyway. Mind if I bring over pizza?"

Brian paused, thinking about his mother's attitude against greasy food, "Oh, well, I don't know, because-"

"I'm bringing pizza." Allison told him, "What's your address?"

Brian told her and they hung up.

"Well?" his mother started.

"Well, what?" Brian said, looking at her.

"What did you talk about, Brian?" His mother asked him impatiently.

"She's coming over." He said to her.

"What about your homework?"

"We'll do it together." Brian said, walking away from the kitchen toward the stairs, talking rapidly and loudly so that his mother couldn't interrupt him, "She's already left. She'll be here soon."

Twenty minutes later, Allison was stepping inside Brian's house, a pizza box in her hand. Brian closed the door behind her and turned to look at her. Allison still wore her hood as she looked around Brian's house, slowly chewing on a piece of the slice of pizza she had in her other hand. She turned her head to stare at Brian and gave him a mocking smile before dropping the pizza box on the nearest table and dropping into a chair. That was when Brian's mother walked toward the front door, a smile plastered on her face but it turned downward when her eyes landed on Allison.

"Uh, this is Allison, mum." Brian said, nervously motioning toward her.

"Hi, Allison." his mother said, pulling out her hand. Allison looked at the hand and then stared at Brian's mother, her face unchanged as she stufed the rest of the pizza in her mouth, her cheeks puffed from the amount of food in her mouth.

"She's...she's really shy." Brian said, walking over to his mother and standing between her and Allison. He could see his mother's frown deepen."

"Ah, I see, well, it's only polite when a guest walks into another person's house and greets them, that's all." His mother stated and staring at Brian, clearly affronted.

"Okay..." Brian said trying to ease the tension, "Well, we have a lot of work to do, so, c'mon, Allison. Let's get this done. Allison?"

Brian watched Allison finally taker her eyes off Brian's mom, then at him. She slowly stood up from the couch and walked past Brian's mum and gathered up the pizza box and waited. Brian, feeling increasingly nervous, began walking quickly toward the stairs and knowing Allison wasn't far behind, ran up the stairs and didn't stop until the two of them were in the room.

"Keep the door open!" His mother yelled at them. Brian heard it but he didn't listen and shut his door.

He sighed and ran his hand through his hair, "Jesus, Allison..."

Allison was laughing silently, her shoulders moving up and down rapidly. Her face was read and she was unable to say anything.

"It's not funny." Brian said, trying not to laugh himself, "You know how much shit I'm going to get for that?"

This made Allison laugh even harder and she fell over on to the floor and landed on the pizza box, flattening it. Brian began to laugh as well and it was long before the two of them were able to stop, bot their eyes watering. The sat in silence for awhile, the two of them chewing on the flat pizza, their thoughts elsewhere. Allison was sketching something in her book and Brian watched her.

"What are you drawing?" Brian asked, swallowing the last bit of pizza. He was sitting on the floor, his back against the door and his arms propped against his raised knees.

Allison looked up at Brian before answering. She shrugged her shoulders then hesitantly, showed it to Brian. He stared at it, impressed. She only had pencils on her, but she had drawn what looked like an overlook of a small town some fair distance below. She drew a dark shadow of someone sitting on a plateau, their legs swinging.

"This is really good." Brian said, looking up at her.

Allison was now standing and looking around Brian's room, staring at a poster he had of his favourite astrophysicist, Carl Sagan. Allison turned to look at Brian and she gave him a shy smile and unzipped her jacket. She placed it on Brian's bed and sat on it, "Thanks."

"Something happened, huh?" Brian said after a few moments, closing Allison's sketchbook and placing it gently on the floor beside him.

Allison looked at him, narrowing her eyes, "What do you mean?"

Brian paused, then shrugged, "You looked unhappy this morning. Like, really unhappy. Was it your parents?"

Allison sighed, leaning back on her hands, "Kind of...they changed the locks on me. Again."

"Again?" Brian asked, "They've done this before?"

Allison nodded her head, then shrugged, "Not that big a deal. I'm used to it. It still pisses me off though. They're so wrapped up in themselves, I might as well not exist..."

Bran looked at her and waited, not sure what to say.

"You know Hashimoto? The school counsellor?" Brian nodded and Allison went on, "He told me there will always be good times and bad ones. I knew that, I just never experienced it. Andy was a good time. Then he turned bad."

"What did he do?"

Allison looked at him, her eyes bright, then turned away. She didn't say anything for awhile then finally, "He ignored me."

Brian frowned, feeling concerned, "You know...I-I'm sure it wasn't on purpose. He might've, he might just be in a really bad mood. I heard he broke his ankle. Can you imagine what his dad might be ragging on him about?"

"That shouldn't matter, Brian." Allison said, looking at him angrily. Brian closed his mouth and said nothing else as he watched Allison stand up from his bed and plopped back down on the floor, "I'm used to it. It was inevitable and things will just go back to the way they were."

"Claire seems okay." Brian said, thinking back. He had found her in the library again, this time she was working on a reading assignment for her English class and seemed just as glad to see him as before.

"It won't last." Allison said, looking at him, "It never does.

* * *

><p><em>Serious thoughts on this particular chapter?<em>

_Thanks for reading, and please review. I really don't mind praises and/or criticisms._


	5. Chapter 5

_Kinda feeling iffy about these past few chapters. Thoughts?_

* * *

><p>Allison hummed to herself softly as she dipped her paintbrush into a small glass of deep blue colour. She tapped the sides of the glass gently and placed her brush on her canvas. Allison was hiding out in the art room storage, a room that was placed behind the two large pottery kilns. She had discovered it one day while she was searching for more clay. It was painted exactly the same as the rest of the room, a bland yellow the same exact colour of dehydrated pee, except for the small brass handle. She opened it and looked inside, noticing a messy room, but a relatively large one. As far as she knew, Allison was the only one aware of the room. The door to the storage was in an ill-gotten place. It would hit one of the the kilns if opened too far but Allison could fit through easily, unlike her teacher, Mrs. Stuckey, who was easily thee times her size. Allison had also painstakingly cleaned up the room that was covered heavily in dust and random items people seemed to have decided to throw in there, like old rubbish, books and folders from years ago, and boxer shorts. Allison made herself shower three times after she had finished before feeling satisfyingly clean. It took a good two weeks since she had to time herself so as not to get caught by anyone, but it was worth it. She also found a pile of stacked canvasses, more sketchbooks, and as many pencils as she wanted. She didn't know if her teacher knew about this place, but then again, her teacher was also an idiot.<p>

Allison stood up from her stool and stared at her painting. She smiled to herself and started to gather up her things as she checked her watch to see the time. She had ten minutes before her teacher was going to come in for lunch. She placed her sketchbooks in her bag and before turning off the switch that lit up the room, she took one last look around her to see if she had forgotten anything. Slowly, she opened the door, peeking through the crack and listening for any signs of movement. Nothing. She stepped out and softly closed the door behind her. She was in the clear as long as no one saw her. If her teacher was to catch her in here, she could simply say she was looking for more inspiration by studying other students' work. Mrs. Stuckey loved shit like that.

Allison managed to leave the room without incident and headed for her locker, the hallways empty for now, but in a minute the bell was going to ring and it would just seem as if she just came out of her class. She pulled open her locker and reached into her bag for her books to place inside and then gather other ones. The bell rang overhead and the voices of students piled out into the hallway, all moving swiftly before class started again. Allison gave her locker one more look before closing and locking it. She turned around and stopped short.

"Hi."

Allison was staring at three different girls. Girls she had seen in the distance and never cared to talk to, not that they would have spoken to her, anyway. Allison kept her face neutral, looking at each one in turn, trying to recall their names. Nothing. She must have looked somewhat glazed over when one of them spoke up, not trying to hide her voice.

"Is she high or something?"

"Hey!" said the first, snapping her fingers in front of Allison. Allison raised her eyebrows at the girl's fingers but said nothing and the first continued, "Do you know who we are?"

Allison said nothing and merely stared. She was not intimidated. It was a tactic her mother used to use on her, but she simply shrugged it off and that was when her mother started losing interest in trying to change her and pretending she was just a thorn she would have to live with. Well, until Allison moved out on her own, anyway.

The first sighed and pointed to herself and the others beside her, "I'm Nicole, Marcia, Steph."

_Congratulations_, Allison thought, looking at her.

Not getting the response she was expecting, Nicole sighed impatiently and crossed her arms, "How do you know Andy?"

At the sound of Andy's name, Allison felt her stomach turn. She hadn't seen him in a few days, not that she was actively looking for him. In fact, Allison was going out of her way to not just avoid him, but everyone else, even Brian. She was choosing not to speak with Hashimoto and she knew he was probably a bit worried, but at this point of time, she'd rather handle things her way and if that meant going back to the way things were, she could live with that. Change scared her and she decided Andy was one she would never be able to deal with. He wasn't worth it.

Nicole was looking more cross as she watched Allison, who was clearly not responding as she would have liked, "What is wrong with you? Are you a fucking airhead or something?"

_Insults, _Allison thought. Another tactic. She started giggling to herself as she looked at Nicole, her face as flustered and angry as he father's whenever he lost an argument or something didn't go his way. She was surrounded by idiots.

"She's fucking crazy." Another said, Steph, or Stacey, or something short and stupid.

"What are you guys doing?" Allison turned her head to see someone else, someone she recognised. Claire. It was the first time Allison had seen her since the detention and she surprised herself by realising she didn't mind Claire at all. Allison then noticed the sudden silence in the halls. Interesting.

"Hi, Claire." said one of the girls giving Claire a smile.

"What do you want, Claire?" Nicole said, turning her attention to the newcomer, "I'm not talking to you."

"I don't care if you're not talking to me, Nicole." Claire said, her eyebrows furrowed, "I asked what you were doing?"

"None of your damn business." said the one with the short and stupid name.

Allison was enjoying this, her eyes roving between all of them as they starred at the each other angrily, making "tutting" noises under their breaths and sighing irritably. Allison looked at Claire for her reaction.

"Leave Allison alone, all of you." Claire said, looking at them all squarely in the eye, "She's never done anything to you."

"Sticking up for the freaks, now, Claire?" Nicole retorted, glaring at her, "Fuck off."

"Nicole, I've known you all your life and the only reason you're bothering Allison is because you have a thing for Andy and you think she's a threat." Claire replied, not bothering to keep her voice down, "Don't flatter yourself. No one will ever like you that much."

"'A threat'?" Nicole said, letting out a laugh and pointing a finger at Allison, "From her? No fucking way. You don't know anything, Claire."

With that, Nicole and her friends walked past her, Nicole making sure her shoulder hit Claire painfully before leaving the area and another calling her "bitch". Allison stared at Claire, who was rubbing her shoulder tenderly. Allison suddenly felt grateful as she watched Claire leaning against the lockers beside her. The halls were relatively quiet, but now intense whispers moved through the school and Allison doubted the entire school wouldn't know about what had just happened before the last bell.

"Thank you." Allison finally said, looking at her feet.

"No problem." Claire said, then laughed weakly, "Those were my only friends. Guess, I don't have anymore. Well, Brian."

Allison sighed softly to herself, thinking, maybe she shouldn't avoid everyone. She opened her mouth hesitantly and nearly whispered, "I can be your friend, too."

Claire raised her eyebrows, looking at Allison, then she gave her a soft smile, "Okay."

They walked together in silence toward their last classes. Allison was struggling internally, opening and closing her mouth several times before finally asking, "What happened to Andy?"

"Andy?" Claire said, frowning as the two of them stopped at a cross section in the halls, "He twisted his ankle real bad. You...didn't know?"

Allison shook her head slowly. Obviously, he hurt his foot, but she didn't know what happened.

"Oh," Claire started then stopped as she looked at Allison who was really not liking the way her chest felt. Then Claire spoke up again, "Brian told me you two were okay..."

Allison didn't say anything, not wanting to go into details.

"Well," Claire continued, "Nicole has always liked Andy. If she's attacking you, it's on Andy."

Allison was still staring at her feet and told herself it didn't matter, because he wouldn't be anything once school ended and that was that.

"What are you doing after school?" Claire asked, changing the subject, "Wanna hang?"

This made Allison look up and she was about to say yes, but remembered she had other plans, "I have work."

"You work?" Claire asked, surprised, then, "Okay. Where is it? I'll drive you."

"West Street." Allison said, looking at her, "By the cinema."

"See you after school." Claire said smiling at her walking away toward her class.

Allison stared after her a few second more, feeling happier than she had been.

* * *

><p>It was Friday and Andy was allowed to walk without crutches. He had given them back to Coach Nease when he arrived at the gym for practice that day. He wasn't allowed to wrestle, but his father wanted him to stick to the practice schedule anyway, saying he didn't want his son getting lazy and slacking off. The first meet of the last season was tomorrow and Andy still felt the anticipation he had whenever a game was going to start, even if he couldn't join in. He would be there though and he couldn't wait.<p>

"Clark!"

"Coach?" Andy answered, looking up from the homework he was doing on the benches.

"You seen Winters anywhere?" Nease asked him, his face set as his eyes roved around the gym, "He ain't in the locker room."

Andy shook his head, "Nah. We have the same last period. Thought he'd be here."

"Do me a favour and find him?" Nease said, sounding impatient, "I can't wait anymore. The meet is tomorrow and I can't hold off practice."

"Sure." Andy said, standing awkwardly.

He watched Nease turn toward his teammates, blowing his whistle. Andy turned and made his way limping through the gym and past the gym doors. He pushed one of the heavy doors opened and began walking across the field, his eyes looking for Michael Winters. Not seeing him, Andy reached for the handle to the back doors for he school but they were already locked. He sighed softly, feeling a dull pain in his ankle. He allowed the small amount of stretch the boot would allow him and continued to limp toward the front of the school. He turned a corner and stopped in his tracks, his heart giving a skip.

He saw Claire and Allison walking down the front steps from the school entrance talking rapidly about something. Andy fixed his eyes on Allison and swallowed, wondering where she was going. He took a few steps forward, wanting to call out to her, but he didn't. He felt embarrassed; he didn't know how to approach her or what to say, just stood there like an idiot. They were walking to the car park. Andy swallowed again and swiftly reached for his back pockets; his car keys and wallet were there. He was breathing heavily now; he had no idea what to do and cursed softly. If he didn't do something, he was going to lose her, he just knew it.

Nease told him to find Winters. He probably should.

Allison.

His father was going to find out he wasn't at practice.

Allison.

He left all his shit there.

Allison.

Make a decision, dumbass!

Allison. Dad. Allison. Coach.

ALLISON.

Allison, it was. Andy made his way to the parking lot as quickly as he could, reaching his car just in time to see Claire's BMW leave the lot and make a right onto the street. Andy pulled out his keys, dropping them and picking them up again, calling himself names. He rammed his keys in before stepping in and turning on the ignition. He backed up his car as fast as he dared and drove forward again, his tires screeching against the pavement and his car practically flying out of the lot. Andy had not even bothered to check if other cars were coming his way as he turned right.

Thinking he lost them, Andy drove faster, wondering if Claire had made any other turns, but no, there she was three cars in front of him. He took in a deep breath and let it out slowly, happy he knew exactly where Allison was. Andy followed them onto a main street and continued into another part of town, a part he didn't often visit and wondered where they were going. Claire was slowing down and made a sharp turn into what looked like a shopping centre. He followed them, slowly, trying not to look to obvious and instead of following Claire through the car park, he made a big U-turn and parked further away, but in still clear view. He waited.

He watched Claire park her car in front of an old brick building that had a banner on it stating "Your Name Here". Andy watched as Allison hopped out of Claire's car and after a minute of talking she waved until Claire's vehicle disappeared from view. Allison turned around and walked into the building. Andy's eyes still on the building, he turned his car back on and drove toward the building, parking as close as he could to it. He turned off the ignition and took a minute, breathing heavily. No time to think.

He opened his car door and hobbled out, looking at the building. It looked as if were going to fall apart right in front of his eyes. He limped around his car and walked across the street stepping in front of the building, looking around for an entrance. Is this where she lived? _No_, Andy though, _this wasn't a neighbourhood._ At least, he hoped it wasn't. Not seeing an entrance he was about to give up when he saw a very faded sign that was spray-painted on the building. A large arrow was pointing down and said "Underground Records and Live Performances". Andy furrowed his eyebrows and stepped forward and realised a narrow set of steps were placed downward, leading toward a single grey door.

He raised his eyebrows slowly and made his way down, taking one step at a time, ignoring the uncomfortable feeling in his ankle. At the door he paused, his hand touching the handle. _No backing out now, Clark._ He grasped the handle and turned it. The door opened and he stepped into a very dark area, only a few, dim lights lit the inside of the building.

It took a moment before Andy's eyes were able to adjust to the darkness. He was in a short, narrow corridor, and followed it until he came upon a larger area. Music was playing overhead, music he had never heard before, and stacks of records were piled on shelves, about two or three people looking through them. A stage was set up in a corner and a woman dressed entirely in black was reading something from a piece of paper, her eyes covered with sunglasses. More people were watching the woman, nodding, or closing their eyes as they listened. Andy shrugged at the off-beat atmosphere as he continued walking, looking for Allison, hoping she was here.

Andy were aware of the stares he was getting but he merely gave them a nod and smile before looking away, his mind focused on Allison. He still hadn't seen her and he was starting to think she hadn't even come this way, but she had to have been. He found his way to a counter where someone was bobbing his head to the music playing as he wrote some things on a piece of paper.

"Hi." Andy said.

The man behind the counter looked up, staring at Andy, obviously taken aback somewhat, "Uh, what...can I do for you?"

"I'm looking for Allison." Andy replied, looking around him before turning back at the man, "Is she here?"

"Allison? Uh, yeah..." the man said, looking at Andy suspiciously then turned his head toward the floor. Andy followed his eyes and noticed someone else was there, apparently not listening, it was Allison.

Andy licked his lips and walked around the counter, the man already grabbing her attention and pointing toward Andy. He watched her face change from expectant, to nervous, then to angry. Andy watched Allison stand slowly, staring at him, her eyes narrowed. She was the only one that could make him feel about two feet tall. He wasn't sure what to say as Allison walked past him in huff and toward the back room, slamming the door behind her.

"Doesn't look like she wants to talk, man." the man said beside him.

Andy ignored him and started walking toward the back.

"Hey, you can't go back there." the man said.

"Wanna stop me?" Andy paused, turning to look at him.

The man opened his mouth, then closed it before shrugging and looking away. Even if Andy was limping, the man didn't seem to want to take chances. Andy smiled to himself and lifted his hand to knock on the door after approaching it.

"Allison?" Andy waited. Nothing. "I'm comin' in."

He opened the door slowly but didn't see anything beside more boxes of records and costumes. A few instruments and amplifiers littered the floor, and massive shelves of even more music in dozens of boxes. He heard the sound of something falling and someone cursing under their breath. Andy moved toward the sound and saw movement between two shelves. Allison was making herself busy, moving boxes around and replacing the fallen records back inside other empty ones.

"Allison." Andy tried again.

"Go away." Was her reply.

_Sounds familiar_, Andy thought, grimly. "No, I'm not going to go away."

Allison didn't reply. Hoping this was a good sign, he took another step forward, "I'm sorry, Allison. I didn't mean to hurt you-"

"I don't want your apologies, _sport-o_. I'm not your problem." Allison said, turned around and glaring at him, her face flustered, "Go. Away."

Andy didn't like she called him that but he stood his ground, "No, I'm not going anywhere until this is solved."

"There's nothing to solve!" Allison said, pushing him roughly on his chest, but she hardly moved him. She continued, "Go back to your awe-inspiring crowd of meatheads and galpals. I'm _not_ interested."

Andy shrugged his shoulders roughly, "I am."

Allison looked at him strangely for a moment, but her eyes turned incredibly suspicious, "I don't appreciate being used. Or ignored."

"I would never used you. Or ignore you." Andy said looking at her and taking a step forward and Allison backed up. Andy continued, finding what he was trying to say very difficult, "I...just...didn't want you...looking at me, that way..."

Allison furrowed her eyebrows, still clearly upset, but she said, "What way?"

"Like.." Andy sighed, his hands on his forehead and not looking at her directly, "like as if I were pathetic, like I couldn't do anything..."

Allison crossed her arms and stared at him, not saying anything and this made him feel very uncomfortable. He frowned as he placed his hands around one of the shelves, trying to keep his thoughts busy with something other than Allison's face.

"You aren't pathetic. Andy." Allison whispered, placing a hesitant hand on the arm of his jacket.

"I feel like it." Andy replied, roughly, his eyes closed now.

"Because you hurt your ankle?" Allison asked. Andy looked at her, she was giving him a small smile, "Or...because...you still can't make decisions without wondering what your father would say, first?"

Andy didn't know how to reply as he shrugged, looking away again, "Both, I guess."

Allison didn't say anything, her hand still on his arm. Andy turned his head to peer at her and sighed, wondering if she was still angry with him. It didn't seem like it; she was smiling and wasn't looking at him with death in her eyes.

"I have to go back to work." Allison finally said, trying to push past him, but he didn't move, "Move, Andy."

Andy refused, making another decision all on his own. He reached and placed his arms around Allison, giving her a tight squeeze, his face between her neck and shoulder. He felt her tense, but he didn't let her go and she slowly relaxed. He felt her arms around him and they stood there for a long time.

* * *

><p>Claire was at the library again in her usual corner, not really working on anything. She just liked the silence. She was staring at the window, waiting for Brian, who was late. Lunch was almost over and he still hadn't shown up. Claire was about to get up when she turned her head to see Brian walking quickly toward her. He was breathing heavily when he stopped in front of her.<p>

"Sorry...I'm...late." Brian said, taking a seat and trying to catch his breath, "Science project...ran...late."

Claire smiled at him, "I didn't think you'd show up."

"Sorry." Brian said with a shrug, "How are you?"

"I'm okay." Claire said, looking at him, "How are you?"

Brian nodded, swallowing, "Good. Had to come up with a diorama to show my mom."

"What, why?" Claire asked him.

Brian explained to her that he had lied about Allison when she came to visit him a few days ago, telling her about pizza and his mother's first impression. This caused Claire to laugh so much, her stomach was hurting when she was done.

"It's not that funny." Brian said, smiling at her.

"It's very funny." Claire replied, wiping her eyes. She paused, feeling thoughtful, "I haven't seen her since Saturday."

"I'm a little worried about her." Brian said, slowly, "She usually meets up with me and my friends at lunch, but she hasn't been there for a few days now."

Claire frowned as the bell rang and the two of them stood up to head to the class they shared, their thoughts on Allison. The first time they walked into geometry together, whispers filled the room but Claire simply glared at them and the talks stopped. Now, it wasn't so unusual, but rumours were spreading about the two of them dating. Brian was very nervous about these rumours, feeling agitated and obligated to tell them and Claire that he didn't feel that way at all.

At first, Claire was bothered, having realised who she was actually hanging out with. Then she realised, Brian was what an actual friend was like. He was supportive and helpful when she needed it. He didn't criticise her, make fun of mistakes she made, and perhaps at times, he was impressed by the things she had, but he didn't dwell on it. She's never experienced that sort of friendship before and she rather liked it. It wasn't until the near end of the day when she found another one. Another true friend.

Claire was now driving away from dropping off Allison for work. She felt happy. It had been a good day. A good week. She got an "A" on her history presentation, she stood up for herself and then stood up for Allison, and she didn't even feel bad about any of it. It was a daily occurrence that she and Brian could be found studying together, laughing together, eating together in the library and she was hoping she would see Allison often as well. Claire realised that not once did either Brian or Allison make a comment about her appearance. The moment she saw Deborah and the others, they either complained or criticised. She honestly never realised how very negative they were, she was. Yeah, it was a good week.

Then she frowned. She hadn't seen John in days. She could be honest and say she was worried. She had no idea where he was and she could only guess what happened in his own home. She received a sudden picture in her head of John lying in the grass somewhere, dead. She hook her head from the thought, scaring herself silly. She sighed softly, wondering where he could possibly be. Claire didn't know where he lived, what his phone number was. She didn't know anything about him and she knew he did that on purpose.

Claire felt a chill in her chest and started to think that maybe he was simply avoiding her. Maybe he didn't want to be seen with her at all. Maybe he thought she was embarrassing and not worth the time. _Christ, Claire!_ She was driving herself crazy for someone she hardly knew. He was exciting, and passionate, and saw through her so clearly it hurt, but that's all he was. He couldn't be relied on. He was too mysterious, too roguish, too...dangerous. He was just too much of a lot of things she shouldn't be part of. She reminded herself this was her last school year and John was just part of a high school experience.

But Claire didn't like that.

She suddenly felt her stomach growl. She didn't want to go home, she might as well get some food. She wanted bad food, too, something fried and greasy. Claire looked around the area she was, looking for anything that would strike her fancy.

Burger King. No.

Taco Bell. Nope.

Wendy's. No.

Kentucky Friend Chicken.

Sounds good. Claire used her car turn signal and made a turn into the plaza. She found a parking spot relatively close to the restaurant. Out of habit, she pulled down her rearview mirror to look at her reflection, then stopped herself, closing her eyes and placing a hand over the mirror. She pulled out the key from her ignition and placed them in her purse before stepping out of the car. She closed her door and made her way into the restaurant, suddenly feeling very nervous.

Her eyes wandered around her as she stared at the other patrons nearby. All of them turned to look at her, other eyes staring longer than others, but Claire was very aware how much she stood out. Her clothes were expensive as was the jewellery she had and the make-up she wore. Everything she was wearing was designer. She swallowed and held up her head, walking toward the cashier's to order her food.

"Welcome to Kentucky Fried Chicken." said a bored voice of a rather pimply boy looking very unhappy.

Claire ordered the large thing of chicken and chips on the side as well as a soda. The cashier took the money Claire was handing her and she was told to wait to the side while her food was getting ready. She took the empty cup and made her way over to the fountain soda machine and filled up her cup with Sprite. She placed the plastic top on her cup and turned, waiting for her food. Her number was called and placing her cup on her tray, she walked over to the wind, ignoring the looks she was receiving. She sat down on a two-seater and placed her chicken in front of her. She reached for one but didn't eat because she finally noticed a familiar face sitting across from her. Claire's heart stopped and the chicken dropped from her hand.

* * *

><p>John stared at himself in the bathroom mirror. There was still a bruise on his face, but it looked worse than it felt. He rubbed his eyes and stretched slowly, feeling the bruises on the rest of his body. He retreated back into the guest room and saw his brother sleeping soundly, Ducky close by. He opened the door to the room and stepped out, heading for the kitchen. Tess was already up and making breakfast, dancing to a song on the radio. John could smell eggs in the frying plan and could see plates with slices of bread on them; quite inviting.<p>

"Morning." John said, chuckling at her dance.

"Morning, John." Tess said, looking behind her and smiling at him, "Hungry?"

"Yeah, let me just get Mark." John said walking back through the small house and into the room.

He kneeled down beside the bed and stroked his bother's forehead before calling his name, "Marky. Mar-ky."

His brother stirred, his bright eyes fluttering before he focused and saw his brother's face. He smiled at John and yawned then turned his head to reach for Ducky. He found the toy and began to chew on it and turned his back to John.

"Come on, Mark." John said, standing, "Let's get out of bed. Aunt Tess made us some food. Ready?"

Mark yawned again and then struggled out of the covers before sliding off the bed and leading the way out. John knew Mark felt comfortable here, he's been here enough. Mark and John arrived in the kitchen just as Tess was finishing up the eggs and placing them on their respective plates. John reached for Tess's and Mark's plate and placing them on a small table. He picked up Mark and positioned him on a chair in front of the food. He turned to see Tess handing him a plate and a fork before sitting in front of her own plate. John chose to stand and eat.

"Tom's coming today, Mark." Tess said, smiling at John's baby brother, "Wanna play with him?"

Mark slowly nodded his head as he trying to cut the egg with his spoon. John had already shovelled his entire plate of food into his mouth and was washing his dish. He reached for a glass and filled it with water before filling two more cups and setting them down on the table where Tess and Mark were sitting at.

"What are you going to do today, John?" Tess asked, slowly eating her own food, while she wiped Mark's mouth with a spare napkin.

"Fix a few things." John said, draining another glass and placing it in the sink, "All I need is day."

"I get it, John." Tess said, looking at him, "Take your time. Just...be careful, okay?"

"Thanks, Tess." John said, going back into the spare room and reaching for his coats. He looked around the room and in the gym bag he brought with him, but there was nothing he needed. He came out of the room and placed a hand on Mark's head tenderly, "I'll be back tonight. His stuff is in the room. Uh..do you have any cigarettes?"

Tess had a hand on under her chin and was looking at him before answering, "Yeah, sure. On the counter. Take them all if you want. I need to quit."

"So do I." John replied, looking at the counter and see a packet of Malboro's. He placed his hand on the entire box, then stopped. He opened up the package and reached for four and dropped them into his shirt pocket. He sighed, "Okay. I'm gonna go. Bye, Mark. See you you later?"

Mark looked up at John with a smile, before focusing his attention on his food and muttering, "Love you."

John smiled, "Love you." He gave a nod to Tess and walked out the door.

He made his way over to the closest Home Depot, two cigarettes already smoked. Tess allowed John to take his car, which made everything he needed to do today that much easier. He threw his cigarette out the open window of the car and looked behind him to make sure the seats were down before stepping out. He walked across the car park and onto the sidewalk before reaching for the handle of the doors and pushed them open. He moved through the aisles doing the same march he had been for years and every step made him angrier. By the time he had gotten to doors he looked at the variety. He couldn't go cheap anymore. He needed something strong and sturdy. Something his father couldn't bust through. Then reinforce it.

It took awhile, but he was finally satisfied with a thick oak door. He also found cylinder guards for a lock and two more locks for the top and bottom of the door and a new set of keys, screws, and thicker strike plates and hinges. He brought these to the cashier and used up all the money Tess had given him. He cursed the door, his mother, his father, and the whole fucking house. He grunted as he carried his purchases toward Tess's car. He opened up the trunk of her station wagon and placed the door inside, closing the trunk. He walked around the car and made his way back inside, and turning on the ignition. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a cigarette, but paused. He'll save it.

He drove the car out of the car park and into the street toward his house. He parked on the street outside his parents' home and pulled out his purchases. He walked over to the side of the house toward his window and gently lay the heavy door against the wall. He placed his hands under the window and pushed it open. The broken door was still on his bed and nothing else seemed to have changed. He could hear nothing either. He stepped inside his room, staying close to the floor. He didn't want to make a sound. He slowly crept toward the back of his bureau and reached for the tools he stashed there. Once he retrieved them, he hopped out of his window and went to work.

It took nearly two hours before John was satisfied with his door. He stood up, looking at his handiwork before walking over to the front door and turning the handle. It was still unlocked from last night. He took a step in and tried to listen. He couldn't hear anything. It was dark inside, the curtains drawn. He peered around the doors and could see the food that fell from last night still on the floor, but still no sign of his father. He continued walking down the hallway, passing by his parents' room. There wasn't any noise coming from there either. Was his mother gone as well. John hesitated before going into his room and looked over his shoulder. He should still check. The laundry room was empty and so was his parents'. No one was home. Luck had turned for him.

John walked back outside to pick up the door and moved back in the house, placing the door against the doorframe, glad his father didn't destroy that too. It was another hour before John was finished with the door completely. He stepped inside his room and closed the door, locking it with a key. He pushed the door with a hand liking how solid it was, then he shoved a shoulder into it. The door hardly moved. John sighed in relief and stowing his new set of keys into his pocket, he climbed back out his window and shut it.

John had thanked Tess for everything she had done and he and Mark were given food and a ride back to his parents at dusk. As usual, John opened the window and climbed in before reaching for Mark and setting him inside as well. John rubbed his eyes as he dropped his things on the floor, feeling incredibly tired. He yawned widely and reached into his pocket for his door keys. He turned the switch for the light and Mark staring up at him. John placed a finger t his lips and Mark mimicked this as he opened his new door. Cautiously, he peered outside of it. He didn't see anything, but he heard the television from his parents' bedroom and the other one from the living room. Back to normal. He sighed softly, feeling relief. No problems so far. He looked over at Mark who was quietly trying to climb up on the bed. John smiled, then frowned. He was going to have to work hard for the next few days to make up all the money Tess had given him all month. He sighed as he pushed Mark into bed and climbed into it as well after kicking off his shoes.

By the time Friday came around, John managed to work back a little over half of the money Tess had loaned him and she didn't mind working him hard, either. He lifted, pulled, placed, rearranged, even constructed several things around the bar. John really didn't have a problem, he was determined to work and he never liked being in debt with anyone, no matter who it was. During the time he worked, he didn't go to school. This was a possible problem, but he pushed it to the back of his mind, not wanting to bother with it. What was even better, his door seemed to have done the trick and he knew his brother Mark was going to be safe. He left it unlocked during the day for his brother if he wanted to go to the bathroom, but _always_ locked it at night.

At the end of the day that Friday, John was ready to leave. He said his goodbyes and walked out, feeling hungry. Outside, John reached in his pockets for a cigarette, but he had run out, again. Sighing softly, he began walking toward home, his eyes peeled for a place to buy food and feed himself and Mark. He found a KFC and made his way toward him and stopped when he spotted someone familiar. He blinked, his feelings surprising him. He actually missed her. He allowed himself a small smile and walked in.

He stood at the entrance watching her for a moment. She looked completely out of her element in her designer clothes, surrounded by hard-working, tough-talking men and women who wore whatever they had washed and in their closets. Colours, accessories-they were just secondary items that gave them no interest. John smile broadened as he made his way over and sat directly across from her.

* * *

><p>Brian was tired. He had stayed up the night before trying to finish the bullshit diorama for his science class. He sighed angrily and upset, wondering why he couldn't come up with something more simple than the ocean ecosystem. <em>Because<em>, Brian told himself, _if it were too simple, his mother would know he was lying._ He frowned as he walked inside his room from the last day of school that week. He stared at his finished project that was sitting quietly on his desk. He had cut out a shoebox and placed different oceanic animals inside, all drawn and coloured by Allison who, to Brian's great relief, was willing to help, still laughing at Brian's stupidity. He admitted he was stupid, but if his mother found out he lied to her, he doubted she would be very happy, then he would never be able to see his friends.

He wondered when he should show his mother, but he shrugged, not caring that much. If she wanted to see it, she would ask, and he, at least, covered all his bases. Unless she called his teacher. Brian widened his eyes, panicking, then relaxed. He shook his head angrily, she never called before. Still.

_Shut up, Brian._

Brian did. He placed his backpack beside his bed and pulled out his books, placing them on the table. He didn't feel like working, he didn't feel like do anything. He walked out of his room and down the stairs where he saw his mother starting to cook dinner and his father reading the newspaper. He stood there, staring at the both of them. His mother was banging cupboards and drawers as busied herself with dinner,mutterings things under her breath and looking angry. His father was reading the paper, looking quite occupied as he drank coffee from his mug. His father noticed him first and gave him an awkward smile.

"Hey, bud." His dad said, looking at him over the paper and peering at him over his thick glasses.

"Hey, dad-" Brian started, but his mother interrupted him.

"Brian, don't you have any homework?" His other said, looking over her shoulder angrily before turning back to her pots, "Get started on it and finish, then."

"He's just saying hello, Merc-" Brian's dad started.

"I don't care." His mother replied, looking at her husband, "He's still in trouble in my book and he should be focused on his studies and nothing else."

Brian's dad didn't say anything, as he reached for his cup, but missed and Brian watched as the mug fell off the table and spilled all over the floor. His father cursed and his mother screamed at the mess he just made and the usual argument ensued. Brian sighed and walked away, annoyed. He turned around to see hi sister sitting on the floor, playing with her dolls and their cars and houses. Brian suddenly felt sorry for his sister.

Kids were observant, even if otherwise, it didn't seem like it. When her parents fight, Mary was quiet, listening to everything her parents said. He wondered what she thought then, while she sat quietly. Brian wandered over and sat beside her. Mary looked up at him and smiled before turning back to her dolls. He was about to ask her what she was playing before he was interrupted.

"Brian!"

He looked up to see his mother, her hands on her hips and her face livid.

Brian sighed and stood up, heading for the stairs and ignoring whatever his mother was screaming at him. He ignored her all the way to his room and until he closed his bedroom door. He leaned against his door frowning, wondering what Allison and Claire were doing. He had managed to run into the two of them before they left the school. Claire was giving Allison a ride to school and this surprised him greatly. He was happy, though. He never thought he would be friends with either of them in his lifetime. He remembered fantasising about it at times when he saw Claire laughing with her friends and the other popular people in the hallways, but then reality came back. He paused, wondering if he was still dreaming, but no, he really wasn't, and he could truly say popular princess Claire and basketcase freak Allison were his friends. He smiled to himself, feeling proud as he walked over to his bed and fell into it, placing his hands behind his head.

* * *

><p><em>Just a bit shorter, my dears.<em>


	6. Chapter 6

_My goal is to make them all your favourite characters..._

* * *

><p>Allison looked up every so often, her eyes on Andy sitting at the table that was beside the small performance stage that had been set up. She had to give herself a smile as she watched him; he looked uncomfortable and bored but he decided to stick around, at least for awhile. She wasn't sure of his intention, but she really liked that he was here. Allison found Andy's decision impressive and surprising because it was something he chose to do, even when he gave a list of all the worries he was suffering from, he still chose to stay. She had no intention in letting this go. Ever.<p>

"Not really part of the daily crowd, huh?" Greg said beside her as he pulled out an old record of The Ramones and putting in one of The Clash's albums, _"Combat Rock."_

Allison shrugged, another glance at Andy from her sorting. He was sitting back, his head bobbing as if he were trying not to fall asleep, "I like him."

"What do you see in that guy?" Greg asked her, moving away from the record player and watching Andy, too, "He's...he's a..."

"A what?" Allison challenged, turning to face Greg.

Greg seemed to have trouble finding the words until he blurted, "Jock, meathead, the guy who picked on dweebs for fun. The guy who would pick on you, us, for kicks. That."

Allison paused, then frowned, looking back at her sorting, "Maybe he was at one point. Not anymore."

"People don't just change, Allison." Greg said to her, writing out the albums they had and what they might need. He'd have to check the back, "They just suppress their initial ideals to impress another. He's got a motive. You're just too head over heels to notice."

"Oh, shut up, Greg." Allison replied with a sigh. She was used to Greg's rather cynical view of the world, but this was about Andy, and she felt slightly more protective, "You just don't know him."

"That's classic." Greg said to her retreating back as she left the counter to talk to Andy. She rolled her eyes as he continued, "You'll see, Allison. You'll realise he's a man and all men are the same; all we want is sex."

Allison crossed through the room, nodding her head at the usual patrons looking through the numerous amounts of records. A lot of people were surprisingly aware of Underground Records, but it was a small group of people. A place where all sorts of music was starting to make their way to the industry. It also helped there was a stage where anyone could preform, no matter who they were or what they wanted to do. It was underground, after all. At the moment, there was some sort of odd play of three people dressed in colourful body suits. Allison had no idea what they were doing, but she was enjoying the different colours.

She stood beside Andy, his arms folded on the table and his head lying on them. His eyes were closed and Allison found him to be very cute. She bent down to peer at him. His eyes were moving under his eyelids and his breathing was steady. Her eyes followed him all the way to the boot he wore and she felt herself feeling sorry for him. Slightly. She lifted a hand and tapped him on the shoulder.

Andy opened his eyes and sat up straight breathing in heavily as he stretched. He turned his head to see Allison staring at him. He gave her a small smile, "Hi."

"Hey." Allison said, smiling back, "I know you said you'd stay. You can leave, you know."

"What, I like it here." Andy said, suddenly frowning at what was happening on the stage. His mouth opened slightly as he stared, clearly confused.

Allison giggled, "Liar. Just go. I won't be done for awhile, anyway. You have a father to deal with, don't you?"

Andy looked at her for a moment, unfocused, and then she watched his face turn from understanding to regretful. Obviously, he was not looking forward to speaking to his father.

"Damn."

"You've gotta talk to him, sometime." Allison said, shrugging, "Better now than later."

"I'd rather it be later." Andy muttered, but he stood and stretched again, "I'll be grounded. He'll let me go to the meet, though. Won't be able to do anything else."

Allison noticed his sidelong glance and raised an eyebrow, "Blow it off."

"He'll be there with me. Saying shit as we watch. Telling me what I could be doing if I didn't hurt my ankle." Andy was getting increasingly bitter as he spoke and Allison touched his arm. He stopped at her touch and stared at her.

Allison gave him a small smile, "It's okay. Aren't you looking forward to the meet, anyway?"

Andy nodded.

"Just cheer your guys on, your teammates. Wrestling...mates?" Allison said, walking toward the entrance of the store, Andy beside her.

"Yeah."

"Hurry up, Allison." She heard Greg say.

She turned and gave him a wave before turning back to Andy and saying, "He doesn't like you very much."

"Really?" Andy said, looking over her shoulder and frowning.

Allison raised her eyebrows, "He said you aren't picking on me because you'd rather be doing something else."

Andy stared at her.

Allison nodded, "Yup. He said all you want from me is sex."

Andy blushed and Allison smiled broadly at this.

"That isn't true, Allison." Andy said, looking incredibly embarrassed and Allison was enjoying every moment of it, "I care about you. It isn't like that at all."

"'At all'?" Allison pressed, "Not even a little? Don't you find me sexy?"

"Yes...no? Wait..." Andy opened his mouth and didn't quite look her in the eye, "Well...I...uhm..."

Allison let out a laugh, not able to help herself any longer. Surprised at her bravery, she placed a hand softly on his face before standing on her toes and giving him a small kiss on the lips. He was surprised as well and he smiled, leaning forward again. Allison didn't mind. In fact, she found herself incredibly comfortable in his arms.

* * *

><p>Andy hobbled over to his car, feeling happy but apprehensive. He looked at his watch and noticed there was about ten minutes left before practice was officially over. He sighed, he was gone for an hour, it would be obvious Andy was gone, his was hoping practice went over, that was known to happen. His stuff was strewn all over the benches, supposedly looking for Winters. Winters was probably there, in practice, but Andy was still missing. He had no idea how Nease was going to react. His worst fear was his coach calling home to find out if Andy went home.<p>

He felt the pit of his stomach turn as he continued driving toward the school. He could see it in the distance and eventually found himself in the car park. There were still cars in the lot from teachers ad other students for whatever reasons. He sighed as he reached for his key and hopped out. He slowly made his way to the gym, trying to come up with a reason for his absence. He couldn't really think of one except the truth and that would be a mistake.

He exhaled and pushed the doors open, feeling a warm air blow into his face. He walked through and followed the hallway into the main gym. He could hear his coach blowing his whistle and yelling at his teammates to get their asses moving. He could see his things right where he had left them across the gym. He'd have to walk past his coach and teammates to get to his things. He sighed.

He swallowed and continued walking, trying to act as if nothing happened. He kept his focus on his things although he could feel Nease's eyes on him, but he ignored them. He made his way to the bench and sat down heavily, feeling a pressure on his ankle. He lifted up his leg and placed it on the bench beside him. He reached for his homework, his goal to work on it, but that wasn't working at all. He heard the last of Nease's whistle and his teammates stood up from the floor, putting their mats away.

"Clark."

Andy looked up and noticed Paul Duggan walking over to him, his face sweaty as he sat beside him with a tired sigh, "Where were you, man?"

"Out." Andy said with a shrug.

"You were with that chick, weren't you?" Paul said after a pause, watching him carefully, "The quiet one you met up with."

Andy didn't reply, not sure how he should be feeling. Paul was probably his closest, oldest friend. He knew almost everything about Andy, including his cocksure father and had some idea of the pressure Andy often faced. Andy respected Paul's opinion most of the time. He wasn't sure what Paul was going to say either, and he wasn't sure he wanted to know.

Paul stared at Andy, "Why are you having trouble admitting to it?"

Andy opened his mouth than closed it with a shrug, "Dunno."

"Hmm." Paul said with a nod, "Well, she's...different."

Andy suddenly took defence to this, "How's that?"

"She's not like your other girlfriends, Andy." Paul said, standing up, "She looks like she has opinions."

Andy allowed himself a small smile as he watched Paul turn and walk toward the showers. He reached for his paper again and started stuffing it into his bag, feeling distracted. He liked what Paul said, and he felt even better that Paul approved. He had never approved of any of Andy's girlfriends before, often calling them airheads and bimbettes. Andy had to admit, he certainly attracted a certain type of girl, and he honestly liked the attention. Allison was different though, and he felt she was worth pursuing. Andy was still smiling as he stood up slowly and saw Nease walking away from the lockers and heading in his direction.

"Hey, coach."

"Clark." Nease said, looking at him, a slight frown on his face, "You disappeared."

"Sorry. Won't happen again." Andy told him, his thoughts of Allison pushed away for a moment.

"Winters showed up a little after you left. He said he hadn't seen you either."

Andy nodded his head, wondering what Nease was getting at.

His coach paused, "You still coming to the meet?"

"Yeah. Dad would make sure of it."

Nease nodded, "Okay."

Andy looked at him, "Did you call him?"

"No, Clark, I didn't. I wanted to, but I didn't." Nease told hims reassuringly. Andy felt himself relax and his coach continued, "I don't know what you're up to, Clark. Just be careful, okay? Your dad has a lot riding on you."

Andy was fully aware of that.

Nease didn't say anything, merely placed a hand on Andy's shoulder before walking away back toward his office. Andy turned to reach for the strap of his bag and placed it across his shoulder. He looked around the deserted gym than the benches to see if he had picked up all his things. Habitually reaching for his back pocket to see if he still had his keys and wallet, he hobbled over toward the exit of the gym.

Andy was distracted. He hardly remembered walking to his car or even driving home. He didn't recall walking through the front door of his parents' house or hear his father calling for him as he made his way to his room. His mind not thinking about wrestling for once, or what his father might say to him when he got home. He had lied to Allison. He wasn't looking forward to the match tomorrow. He just wanted to be with her. Andy fell into his bed, placing his keys on the table beside him and turned over so that he was lying on his stomach.

How could he tell her that, though? Allison seemed to know everything about him and yet, he hardly knew anything about her. He had thoughts about somehow missing the meet tomorrow, but he dismissed these quickly. His father would never let him miss the meet. He'd kill Andy and drag him if he had to. He amused himself by thinking of breaking his legs but obviously, that was incredibly stupid. He wanted to see her this weekend, not go to a fucking meet.

Andy sat up, looking at the different trophies he had on his bookshelves, the awards on the walls, for baseball, swimming, long-distance running. This time, his father chose wrestling. His father chose. Andy bit the inside of his mouth, looking at the keys on his table. He reached for them, staring, trying to make a decision. If he left now, his father was going to be very angry. He was supposed to act as if he had the meet tomorrow, as if his ankle wasn't twisted. Andy stood up, his heart beating. _No,_ he thought, _no. _Andy moved quickly out of his room and down the stairs. He ran toward the front door and pulled it open.

"Andrew? The hell are you doing? Where're you going?"

Andy didn't stop. He stormed outside, his father calling him but Andy ignored him. Andy knew if he stopped, he would change his mind. He reached his car and twisted is keys into the lock. His father's voice ringing in his ears, demanding he get back in the house. Andy refused. He opened his car door, closed it as hard as he could, drowning out his father's voice. Turned on the ignition and drove down the driveway. He had never felt so scared and free.

* * *

><p>"You're okay..." Claire said, surprising herself greatly. Her eyes widened and she placed her fingers on her mouth, her cheeks burning.<p>

"'Course, I am." John replied staring at her, "Why wouldn't I be?"

"Forget it." Claire said, focusing on her chicken.

John was smiling at her, smugly, as if he knew a secret. Claire couldn't take it anymore and dropped her uneaten chicken once more.

"What?" she said, feeling very shy and looked away.

John leaned forward and spoke so softly, Claire had to lean forward to hear him, although reluctantly, "Didn't think to find you here, Princess."

Claire frowned at him, "I wanted to eat something."

"Here?" John asked her disbelievingly.

"I was hungry." Claire said, leaning back and crossing her arms.

John smiled mischievously, "Trying to see if you can hang with the rest of the working-class? Or are you just lost and too embarrassed to leave?"

Claire narrowed her eyes, feeling annoyed, "Why do you do that?"

"Do what?" John asked innocently, leaning back in his chair.

"Try to get under everyone's skin?" Claire asked, "Is this your life-time goal? Keep as many people as possible just at arm's length? Make sure everyone hates you when they first meet you?"

John's smile had vanished and he simply stared at Claire, not responding.

"That's it, isn't it?" she said, frowned, "What's wrong with you? Don't you even care that someone might worry about you? Might think you're lying in a ditch somewhere?"

She couldn't really understand what was going on in his head, his face studying her, almost as if trying to see if Claire was even real. She had opened her mouth and all her thoughts cam tumbling out and she couldn't stop herself. She never felt so upset and so relieved at the same time.

Claire's frown deepened as she continued, "You have this shield, this 'don't-care' attitude, but I know you're vulnerable even if you don't want to show it. Look around, John."

Claire sighed at his silence, then stood up, walking away from her table, the food, and John. Feeling angry and frustrated, she marched to the entrance and pulled one of the double doors that led inside of the restaurant. What bothered her the most was how little John had to do to make her so irritated. He made her flustered and unable to think properly. She sighed to herself, her footsteps light against the pavement as she quickly made her way to her car not paying attention to an oncoming car.

Claire jumped at the sound of the horn and backed off, breathing hard, her eyes fluttering as her hand went to her chest. She could feel her heart beating hard and tried to ignore the curses in her direction, nervously tightening her coat around her. She waited until the car passed before walking again, her awareness heightened until she got to her car. She reached into her purse and looked for her keys. Claire finally found them and placed them in her lock. She pulled the handle, opening her door, but another hand appeared and pushed it closed. She looked up and saw John beside her, his face unreadable. He had her tray in his hand and placed it on the top of her car.

"Go away, John." Claire didn't want to put up with him, reaching for the handle again, but John, leaned against her door, his hands in his pockets, his face looking down. She crossed her arms and asked, "Can you move, please?"

He didn't and muttered something.

"What?" Claire said impatiently.

"You're right."

Claire felt very taken aback and blinked at this response. She dropped her arms and stared at him, his face still looking somewhere by his feet. She opened her mouth and asked softly, "Right about what?"

"Everything." John said, looking up and crossing his arms, "About what you said, inside."

Claire was aware John was obviously trying to avoid her gaze. She stared at him for a moment before following his example and leaned against her door beside him, "Oh. Well, can you tell me why?"

John shook his head, "Nope."

Claire wasn't sure if he was answering the question or choosing not to and she didn't want to push it. She was about to say something, feeling awkward when she realised John was staring at her, making her feel even more uncomfortable. She tried to turn her head away but couldn't as his face was closer. Her eyes moved to his lips, hungry for them. _This was wrong_, she kept telling herself, _wrong, wrong_.

"Glad I'm not dead?" John asked her softly.

"Maybe..." Claire replied, coyly.

"You don't hate me, do you?" He was closer now, his hair falling over his face.

"A little..." Claire replied, almost in a whisper. She swallowed.

"I can live with that." John said, smiling, leaning forward.

Claire enjoyed how their lips touched. He was soft but passionate and she felt his arms around her waist as he pulled her toward him, his back against her car again. Claire had raised her hands and placed them over his neck, standing on her toes. She didn't remember ever enjoying kisses as much as she did these. They were experienced and adventurous and so very sensual.

Claire then moved away, her thoughts all over the place and she wasn't sure what to listen to. John gave her a curious look, her arms were still around his neck, his hands on her waist. Claire sighed wondering what she should do. She knew what she wanted, but she wasn't sure John would help fulfil it. Maybe she was just a romantic, but she had no interest in being used and if this was what it was, she was just going to have to learn to forget about him. A prospect Claire did not want, but what other choice did she have?

"What is it?" John asked her.

"Just wondering..." Claire started, looking at him. She took in a breath and let it out, "Wondering what we're doing. What _I'm_ doing."

"Kissing." John said simply, then grinned at her, "We can change it up, if you like."

"You have no idea what I'm talking about?" Claire said, frowning, "Or you just refuse to acknowledge it?"

John dropped his hands and placed them behind his back, not saying anything. Claire did the same, taking a step back. He knew exactly what she was talking about and he obviously did not want to deal with it. Something was holding him back. Claire wanted to know, she really did, but something about his closed-off attitude scared her. Perhaps, she was a coward, but she wasn't going to push it. John was different, new, and she didn't know how to deal with him. She had relations before, of course she did. She was often pushed into them...and they were _not_ John.

"Fine. You don't want to talk about it." Claire said, finally. He was still looking away, but she knew he was listening and she continued feeling somewhat rambunctious, "I do care about you and I still want to be your friend, even if you don't."

John looked at her, slightly surprised, but his face then changed slightly, and she was no loner able to read it.

Claire continued with a shrug, "I'll give you a ride home."

He didn't respond right away. He then stood up straight and exhaled, "Okay. Can I drive?"

Claire raised an eyebrow.

* * *

><p>John didn't get to drive but he had never once been in such an expensive car and kept himself busy by exploring it. There were all sorts of small cubbies and pull-out drawers, filled with so much...crap; tissues, make-up, hair-things, receipts; a lot of receipts. None of the items seemed very necessary. And buttons. So many buttons with small pictures on them that made no sense to him. He could hear Claire laughing beside him, enjoying his curiosity and he was trying not to show it on his face, but he liked that laugh. It was cute and forgiving.<p>

When he had finished exploring, he leaned back against his very comfortable chair and closed his eyes. No, he didn't want to talk about it. What was the point? It'll be over as fast as it began. He kept telling himself it was a fling, a short relationship, give her what she wanted to keep her happy, even if it was limited. He knew Claire wanted something more serious, but he couldn't commit to that. Especially not now...not ever. John furrowed his eyebrows, not liking how that sounded. For once, he wanted something just for himself. He wanted to be selfish.

"Long week?" Claire asked as they were on the road, "Hadn't seen you in school for awhile."

"Missed me?" John teased.

Claire paused then chose to ignore the question as she stared out of her windshield, "I guess you didn't get enough sleep."

John chose not to answer. Wasn't her business, was it?

"You don't smell like cigarettes." Claire began again. A feeble attempt at starting conversation. See, this is why he doesn't have relationships. You don't fucking say anything, "Quitting?"

"Why are you talking so much?" John asked, staring at her. "Make a left here."

"I asked you first." Claire replied, turning her wheel.

John crossed his arms, "Maybe."

"That's good. I hate that smell."

"That hurts, Princess." John said, smiling at her.

"And your kisses are what I think is the equivalent to licking an ash tray." Claire replied, that gave him a look as she turned into his neighbourhood, "We won't have to worry about that anymore, will we?"

"What?" John asked, feeling curious, "Worry about what?"

"Kissing." Claire responded, slowing her car down, "Where do we go from here?"

John stared at her then, "Straight. Then make a right at the end of the road."

"I see Brian and Allison a lot." Claire continued, driving past the small houses. She turned at the end of the street.

"Stop here." John said suddenly and Claire did.

He could see his parents' house from a distance but something was wrong. He didn't know what it was, but his gut feeling was telling him he needed to be aware. His immediate thought was Mark, but his baby brother was just fine. He had been for the past few days. He was panicking, that's all and it wasn't unusual for him to be paranoid.

"John?" Claire was asking him.

John looked at her. She was curious and worried, a small crease between her eyebrows. He was very close to saying something, but closed his mouth and shook his head. He stuffed the chips inside with the chicken and opened up his door before stepping out. He leaned over to take one last look at Claire and gave her a wave and closed the door. He turned and started walking swiftly toward his parents' house, the food in his hand, his focus on Mark. He made his way to his window and peered in. Nothing was out of the ordinary. His door was closed even if he couldn't see Mark.

He reached for the window and tried to push it up, but it didn't work. He frowned, dropping the food from his hand. He placed both hands on the window and pushed it up, groaning with effort. He couldn't do it. _The fuck?_ He thought. He hesitated before walking around to the front of the house. His stomach was fluttering. Something was wrong. _Fuck!_He needed to find Mark. He burst through the front door of his house, ready for another fight and he stopped short.

John's eyes widened as he looked around. His house was clean. Very clean. There wasn't any rubbish on the floor, food was gone, and there was a new smell in the air, like an lemony kind of smell, a clean smell. Old marks on the walls were repainted over and window curtains were open. That's when his eyes wandered over to the living room of four different figures standing. His parents caught his eyes first. Both of them wore good, clean clothing. His father was wearing a suit with a yellow tie, his face a malicious look in his eye, his mother was wearing make-up and a dress he hadn't seen since he was Mark's age, she was looking downcast and hardly seemed to know anyone else was in the room.

"Where's Mark?" John asked, walking toward his parents.

"That's him, officer." his father said, a sneer in his voice, "That's who kidnapped my boy."

"Where's _Mark_?" John yelled again, feeling his hands forced behind his back and the sound of handcuffs. He could heard his rights being read, but he ignored them as he was steered out of the house, "Where the _fuck_ is Mark?! Mark?!"

John was angry. Fucking angry. He wasn't sure if his temper would hold. He was trying. Trying so very hard, but he had only one fear and that was Mark. He didn't know where his brother was, and his vulnerability was riding on his sleeve. He didn't know what to do. He was lost. His only one goal in life was gone, taken from him and he had no one to blame but himself. He wanted to protect Mark, take him away, keep him safe and he failed. He _fucking_ failed. He had ridden in the back of a non-discreet police car, his heart in his throat. He could hardly remember the ride, or when the officers drove him into the station. He didn't even remember the interrogation. He said nothing because there was absolutely nothing to say. The officers eventually told him to wait inside a cell with about four other people. Where the fuck was his brother?

"_Fuck_!" He yelled, his temper finally getting a hold of him.

"Hey, shut up!" said another officer, glaring at John.

John looked away, trying very hard not to let his temper get the better of him. He was given the option of calling someone; but he could think of no one. Tess? No, he wouldn't drag her into this. He hadn't been officially booked yet. Apparently, there was a line. Although, maybe it was just a ruse. He didn't know, and at the moment, he didn't care. Where the fuck was Mark?

"Kid!"

John looked up. Another officer, not one of his arresting officers, was pointing at him, "Move it."

He swallowed, standing up and walking toward the waiting officer. John turned and allowed himself to be handcuffed and was steered toward a door. The officer pressed a button, waited until a heavy buzz rang and the doors and the officer pushed the door open. John continued walking, his thoughts running all over the place. Was he going to be booked? Could they arrest him? He wasn't even of legal age. Yet.

John was moved into another cell, his wrists uncuffed and the heavy cell door closed behind him. He was in a rather isolated area with more cells but each one had a single person in it, apparently waiting for something.

He looked at the officer's retreating back, "What's going on?"

"You have a visitor." said the officer and through the buzzing doors he went.

_Visitor..._John thought, questioningly. Another buzz and there stood someone he never thought he'd see.

"Claire." he said, before he could stop himself, "How did you...?"

Claire sighed softly before giving him a small smile and walked over to him, "I watched you go inside your house. I was about to leave when I saw you get arrested. I followed. It's been hours. You okay?"

John wasn't sure how to answer that, but he felt incredibly happy to see her. He knew she wanted to know what was going on, but she wasn't asking and he felt very grateful.

She moved closer to him and nearly whispered, "I don't think you're going to be arrested. I overheard two officers arguing. I think they were talking about you."

John stared at her, a slimmer of hope washing over his chest.

Another loud buzz and both he and Claire looked over their shoulders to see another, older black officer strolling over to the two of them, a smile on his face as he shook his head. He stopped a few metres away, looking at John, than Claire, then John again, his eyebrows raising toward his salt and pepper hair. The officer whistled as he crossed his arms and stared at John. John sighed softly, not sure whether to smile or not. This was Officer Gene Williams, someone he knew very well, to the point that they were on first-name basis. He liked Williams, up to a point. He was still a policeman.

"Christ, Bender." Williams said, looking at him, "What the hell have you gotten yourself into? Didn't I tell you not to come back?"

"Wasn't my fault, Williams." John said, looking at the officer seriously, "You have to help me. They did something to Mark. You need to find him. Find him, Williams!"

"He's fine, John. He's okay." Williams said reassuringly, reaching for a set of keys hanging by his belt.

"What?" John said, his eyes welling up. His hands were in fists as he tried to keep his tears from falling, "He's okay? I didn't see him, I didn't see him."

"He is." Williams said, placing a hand on John's arm. "He appeared after you left the house, calling for him. Officer Milligans found him."

John stared at him, a fist to his forehead, "Thank fucking Jesus H. Christ. Where was he? Where is he?"

"He was hiding under his bed at home." Williams replied, finding the key he wanted and placing it into the lock of John's cell. Williams slid the door open and John stepped out, "Playing 'Peek-a-boo'? Or somethin'."

John couldn't help it, he was laughing out loud. The sense of relief he felt washed over him and there was a tremendous weight that was removed from his shoulders. However, his relief quickly left when he remembered where his brother was.

"I have to go back there." John said looking at the officer.

"That's not a good idea, John." Williams said, looking at him, leading John and Claire out toward the door he had come from and into a long, white corridor. Phones could be heard behind more closed doors.

"I have to!" John practically yelled, his thoughts racing, his heart pumping, "I can't leave him there. Something is going to happen to him."

"Bender, your parents are the ones that called the police after you, remember?" Williams told him in a forced calm voice, turning around and placing a hand forcefully on John's shoulder, "It is not a good idea."

"I have to do something." John was completely adamant. He couldn't leave Mark there. He fucking wouldn't.

"At the moment, you can't do shit. Alright?" Williams told him slowly, "You do anything rash and I won't be able to help you, you understand? Come on, we gotta get your stuff and you can get the hell out of here."

John closed his eyes briefly and nodded slowly, wondering what he could be doing. He followed Williams toward another set of doors until they were now in the main entrance of the police station. He felt something on his hand and looked. Claire had reached over and had placed her hand in his, squeezing comfortably. She was not looking at him, appearing shy. He felt hesitant at first at the touch, but realised he actually needed it and kept his hand with hers.

"Is there _anything_ you can do?" John finally asked, as the three of them stopped at the entrance.

"Believe me, kid," Williams said, looking at him seriously, "I've been looking at you, your case, your goddamned entire family since I met you. I haven't given up."

"What else do you need?" John asked him, incredulously.

"Evidence." Williams sighed after a pause.

"What, my bruises aren't enough?" John asked him, angrily, "My face, my fucking legs and arms...?"

"You have a record, Bender, with fights and other...related issues, outside your home. You're considered unreliable." Williams replied tiredly, rubbing his eyes. He raised his hands up before John could retort, "You're not, I've never thought you were, but you need to consider the circumstantial evidence involved. To an objective point of view, it's tainted."

"Fuck..." John said, his temper rising. He felt another squeeze. Claire. He breathed, "Okay. Well, how can I know Mark is okay?"

"Your parents called on kidnapping, false, but it's an issue. Officers will be in and out of there for awhile. Statements, that sort of thing." Williams sighed, "Look, not a lot can be solved tonight. You look dead on your feet. Do you have a place to stay?"

"N-"

"Yes."

John and Williams turned their head to look at Claire. Her face was determined as she quickly looked at John very surprised face, then turned back to Williams, "John has a place to stay."

Williams paused, then, "Okay. Miss, I'll just need a name, a number, and an address, in case I need to talk to John, or you."

"Sure." Claire said, letting for of John hand and taking a pen from Williams.

John stared at the back of Claire's head, not understanding what he was feeling at the moment. Vulnerable, grateful, miserable...and something else...strange. He shook his head from his thoughts. Now was not the time and yet, he didn't think he wanted anything more at that moment.

* * *

><p>Brian could hear his parents arguing again. About him, of course. He had opened his door slightly to listen to what it was.<p>

"I don't care, Richard." his mother was saying, "He got a detention! That will go on his permanent record and then where will we be? Next, it will be drugs and sex! He'll never go to college"

"Christ, Mercedes!" his father hissed at her, "What the hell are you talking about? He made one mistake! One!"

"One mistake is all it takes, as you should know!" his mother yelled, "Brian makes one, then another, then another."

"There you go with the insults again." her father yelled back. A loud bang and it sounded like his father had slammed something on the dining table, "Don't bring your personal issues with my family into this. This is our family, now. _This, right here!_"

His mother made a scoffing noise.

"You push him, way too hard." his father continued, obvious calm in his voice, "You keep doing this and there is going to be some permanent damage. You are pushing him away from us. _You are._

"Now who is insulting whom?" His mother replied, angrily, "Who's going to push him, anyway? You? Ha! You hardly talk to him, and when you do, it sounds like you're trying for a job interview. You can't impress him. Face it, you're boring."

"Guess who you married?" His father retorted, smugly.

Brian couldn't listen anymore and closed his door with a snap. This wasn't unusual. His mother was bitter, temperamental, and angry about everything. Anything could set her off. He figured his father had just given up arguing with her; he wasn't very confrontational to begin with, just quiet and observant. He knew both his parents cared about him and his sister, but it obvious they cared about arguing more. Brian wondered if they ever did love each other. He wondered if maybe they were happy at one time. When they first met. How long did it take before everything went downhill? Brian was born a year after they had married and he's pretty sure he was not planned. His mother was forced to quit school and his father had to take a second job. Something Brian's mother never forgot to remind him when she was really angry with him.

Brian walked away from his door and looked at his bookshelf. He really wanted to read something. He hadn't picked out any books from the library in a few days and reading was the only way he could take him mind off of...this. He sighed softly, thinking he should just re-read a favourite book. He looked over his shelves, everything placed according to genres; science-fiction, non-fiction, biographies, philosophy, science. Nothing was catching his eye. Brian was definitely not in the mood. He honestly didn't know what to do with himself.

He remembered reading about ways to keep oneself from getting bored; meditation, writing, drawing. All of these things, unfortunately, needed the right brain, the creative side. Brian was too much of an analytical thinker. He'd rather solve math equations and understand the bio-mechanics of the human skeleton. He remember the last time he tried to draw, his art teacher told him it was so bad, he should quit while he was ahead. Brian immediately changed interests which was when his mother decided to involve herself.

Brian remembered better days. Particularly camping. His parents used to be avid hikers and campers. Before Brian's, his father used to take his mother to their favourite camping spots and as far back as he could remember, that's where they took him. Then suddenly, it stopped. He didn't remember why, but excuses were made, camping trips were becoming less and less, arguments were appearing more and more and then Mary was born. Camping ended completely. His poor sister Mary. She was born into something dysfunctional. Maybe she was an accident too, or perhaps a fix-it to replace Brian. If he was gone, would things be better?

Brian frowned, a mirthless chuckle leaving his lips as he walked backwards to sit on the edge of his bed. He hadn't thought about suicide in a while. Before the flare gun went off in his locker and he survived detention, suicide was almost a daily thought and it ate at him, constantly. It was all he thought about and it led his daily life. He had no interests, no motivation. He hated the praises from his teachers, he hated the bitterness from his mother, he hated the sight of his friends; Larry, Teagan, even Deb. He just wanted it to be over.

Things have changed, though. He couldn't deny that. Deb had mentioned he seemed happier and he felt that way. He liked that Allison would join him for lunch. He liked that Claire, a very popular girl in school, looked forward to meeting with him in the library. He had interests again and he was motivated to do well, not to please him mother, but because _he_ wanted to, Brian wanted to.

He had made some changes, too. Subtle ones, ones he doubted his mother knew about. Yet. He had dropped Latin club. That was a big one, but Mrs. Gordon was easily 90 years old and Brian doubted she would notice a student missing. He also hated Latin. That was a sigh of relief. Instead, he spoke to the shop teacher, Mr. Yates, and he agreed to help Brian on his work. The only reason he didn't do well in that class in the first place, was because Brian thought it was an easy 'A', something he could just get by with - his mistake. Brian didn't realise there was as much concept and theory learning required for that class than any other course. Yates told him a car engine was the next project; Brian had already read ahead and was determined to impress his teacher in the next few days.

Brian fell to his bed. His parents were not arguing anymore but there was a lot of tension in the air. There was a soft knock on his door.

Curious, Brian swung his legs over and walked to his door, opening it. There was his sister, looking up at him. She had been crying, but was trying to hide it. Brian sighed and opened his door wider, his sister walked in and he closed the door softly behind her. He turned and saw his sister struggling to get onto his bed, a doll in her hand. This one was small and soft, one she's had since she was a baby. Brian watched as Mary finally made it onto the bed and crawled under the covers.

This was not an unusual occurrence. The first time Mary had turned to him was two years ago when she had a better concept of understanding her parents were not on good form. He had opened his door and Mary barged in, stomping into his room. He was not pleased at the time and it took her almost an hour before she finished with her tantrum and he managed to coax her to explain what her problem was and to get out of his room. Mary eventually tried to explain through hiccups and tears that she was sad. Brian chose not to kick her out of his room, understanding what she was going through, because had gone through it as well. He allowed her to stay while he worked on his homework. When he finished, he turned from his desk and saw Mary fast asleep on his bed. He didn't mind at all.

This was going to be another one of those nights. Though, now, Brian has been reading to her from different books from his bookshelf. Not caring to do his homework, he walked over to his shelves again and picked up the last book he was reading from, "Chemistry, Part IV". He sat on his bed and looked at his sister. She gave him a small smile and waited, her small fingers tightly wrapped around her doll. Brian opened up the book, flipping through to read where he had left off and found, _Thermodynamics_. He allowed himself a small smile, knowing his sister didn't understand what he was reading, but he had a feeling that wasn't was important to her. Brian took another glance at his sister, her eyes already closed. He looked back at the chapter and began to read out loud.

* * *

><p><em>I hope this shows some more insight into what these kids are dealing with. <em>

_Thank you for reading!_


	7. Chapter 7

_Thanks to everyone who has been reading so loyally. I really, truly appreciate the praises I've received._

_And thank you, for your patience._

* * *

><p>Allison's day went with a breeze. She didn't remember the last time she had felt so happy about everything going on in her life. Despite Greg's muttering comments against her and Andy's relationship-wait. Could she call it a relationship? What do people do when they kiss and hold hands? Did they sit down and talk about it and decide? Allison was starting panic again as she made her way to her parents' house. She wasn't sure if she could even say she was in a relationship. Would Andy agree? They didn't exactly have a smooth transition since Monday. She was actually quite angry with him for most of the week. What was happening?<p>

"Stop, Allison." Allison told herself, stopping in her tracks and stomping her foot.

She took in a deep breath and let it out slowly several times before she began walking again. It was nearly nine o'clock at night and it was cold. Allison wrapped her jacket tighter around herself as she walked, glad the house was only a few minutes away. Allison turned and stepped onto her parents' driveway. Their car wasn't parked in front of the house. She could only guess where they were, but she didn't care. They never told her where they spent their money. Allison shoved her key into the lock, half-expecting it not to work, but the lock turned and Allison made her way inside. It was dark but warm. She removed her hood and closed the door behind her. She felt her way and reached for a switch by the kitchen to turn it on.

It was so quiet inside. Allison reached for the fridge, and stared into it. She had finally purchased her own groceries and shoved them messily into the fridge. This might have bothered her parents, in fact, it probably did. Allison was somewhat surprised her food was still inside, that her mother hadn't thrown it out. Instead, someone had taken her things and placed them in a drawer at the bottom of the appliance. Allison reached down to pull out the drawer and stared at the processed cheese, ham, loaf of bread, mushrooms, carrots, and a small thing of milk. She pulled out the milk and bread, having decided on a grilled cheese.

She removed her jacket, feeling the heat and placed it on her kitchen table. She reached over the stove and began pulling out a frying pan and some oil. She began to cook. Allison's thoughts moved from homework she still needed to finish, whether Hashimoto called her house, which she told herself, he probably did, and back to Andy again. She wondered if he was in trouble, curious about how his talk went. Allison was finished cooking and turned off the stove. She pulled out a plate and turned the pan upside down. Her sandwich landed with a plop onto the plate and she threw the hot pan into the sink. She picked up her plate and the small jug of milk and placed them both on the dining table. She sat in front of her food and started chewing on her sandwich thoughtfully.

She looked around her, noticing the quiet and the dark house, suddenly realising how very lonely she was. She frowned and finished her sandwich and half the jug of milk. After she was done, she reached into her bag and pulled out an envelope. She looked inside to make sure everything was correct and placed it on the kitchen counter so her parents' could see it. Allison washed her pan and her dish, replacing the milk before heading up the stairs and reaching for the cord to pull down the attic door. She moved to the side as the ladder fell and she climbed it, looking forward to staying in her bed.

The next morning, she woke up to the sound of loud laughter. Allison groaned and stretched, trying to focus her eyes. She turned her head and looked at the clock. It was seven in the morning. She sighed, rubbing her eyes. She didn't sleep until 3 AM, her mind occupied on the mural she was trying to finish. She didn't make it very far, disappointed in most of her starts. She figured her mind was preoccupied, so she had given up and decided to fall asleep. Laughter again. It was high-pitched and annoying. Her mother. There was more laughter, barking this time. Not her father's, it sounded unfamiliar.

Allison sighed and knowing she couldn't go back to bed, she sat up rubbing her face. She made her way out of bed and shuffled toward her clean pile of clothes and dressed. Yawning, she opened her attic door and allowed the ladder to fall. She made her way down and felt her stomach rumble, making a face at the weird laughter coming from downstairs. Allison hesitated at the top of the stairs, not really looking forward to going to the ground floor. She sighed, feeling hungry and walked down, her mind focused on food.

"Oh, Allison, dear." Allison turned slowly to look at her mother, her eyebrows raised. Her mother had a mug of coffee in her hand and was sitting across a man she had never seen before. Her mother continued, her cheeks slightly red as she looked at the man then back at Allison, "This is Rey. Rey, this is my daughter, Allison."

Allison didn't say anything, curious as to why her mother was suddenly paying attention to her. She looked at her mother than this man, Rey. _What a stupid name_, Allison thought. She knew she was making them both uncomfortable but that was what she was best at and she enjoyed it.

"It's nice to meet you, Allison." Rey said, standing, a forced smile across his face.

She stared at him, then her mother with a raised eyebrow.

"Allison. It's rude if you don't say 'hello', back."

She sighed, looking at her mother, "Why should I care who you sleep with? Mother?"

"Uh-" Rey started, looking quite embarrassed.

"Allison!" her mother said angrily, "Apologise, right now!"

Allison crossed her arms and glared at her mother's furious face before turning back to Rey, "No."

"Allison!" her mother practically screeched as her daughter walked away from them, heading for the kitchen, "How dare you-"

"By the way, _mother_," Allison called over her shoulder, "the rent money is on the counter. Did you see it? It should be the right amount."

There was an awkward silence as Allison reached for her cereal in the cabinets. She could hear some rapid talking and whispering and the sliding of a glass door. She could hear her mother's footsteps heading in her direction, but Allison didn't care. What was her mother going to do, yell at her? That would be a first. Ignore her? Nothing would have changed.

"I've never been so embarrassed in my life." was her mother's hissy response. Not getting the response she wanted, Allison's mother continued, "Do you know who that was? What do you have to say for yourself, young lady?"

Allison swallowed the last bit of food, placing her empty bowl and spoon in the sink. She walked past her mother, not bothering to look at her. She felt a hand on her arm and moved away as if the touch stung. She never felt so angry. She hated anyone touching her, especially her mother.

"Don't touch me!" Allison yelled, her face livid, "Don't _ever_ touch me!"

Her mother was looking back at her daughter with surprise and possible fright. Her mouth was moving as if she was trying to talk or perhaps cry, Allison didn't care. She glared at her mother and walked out of the kitchen and up the stairs toward her room. She reached for her bag and reached for her sketchbooks and pencils to stuff them inside. She ran out of her room and rushed down the stairs. Her mother was still in the kitchen, a hand on her mouth, looking at the floor.

"Don't change the locks, either." Allison said stopping for just a moment. Her mother looked up, tears in her eyes. Allison ignored this and walked out the front door, talking over her shoulder, "I don't mind breaking a window."

* * *

><p>Andy drove for a long time. A very long time. He wasn't going in any particular direction either. If he felt like making a left, he turned, if he wanted to go on a highway and head west for awhile, he did. There was so much going on in his head. He had never walked out on his father like that before, never ignored him.<p>

And he was so fucking scared.

He had already been driving for two hours and his car was getting low on gas. Andy looked for signs on the highway and got off the nearest exit, a Shell just off the turn. He followed the off ramp until he saw the gas station just off to his left. He turned into it and found an empty pump. He turned off his car and stepped out, looking around. He had never been here before. It was practically empty except for a gas station and few restaurants pick-pocketing the area. He closed the door of his car and pulled open one of the gas station double doors to hobble inside. He looked around, heading for one the aisles and reaching for a bag of crisps. He really needed to snack on something. He hadn't eaten since he got home and it was usually dinner. He walked to the fridges in the back and also picked up a can of soda. He turned and headed back toward the cashier to pay for his items and the gas.

"This and pump 5. Here's a 10.00."

"Andy? Andy Clark?"

He looked up at the sound of his name and stared at the cashier. He looked older than him by a few years, long hair around his face. He looked as if he hadn't bathed in days.

"Yo, Andy! Don't you recognise me? It's Gene! Gene Parisi!"

"Gene..." Andy thought, feeling confused. Then he remembered and exclaimed, giving Parisi a five, "Parisi! Whoa, how are you, man? What're you doin' here?"

"Just working here, man." Parisi said, taking Andy's soda and crisps and ringing them against the cash register, "doing what I can to get out of this shithole."

"Everyone on the team thought you left for college on scholarship." Andy said, looking at him surprised, "What happened there?"

"Aw, man, didn't work out. Too hard what with parties and classes and shit." Parisi said, bagging Andy's things, "So, this with gas, it comes to $13.50."

"So...you came back here." Andy said, staring at him and handing over the money.

"Yeah, had to, man." Parisi said, counting out the money and dropping it into the register, "before the old man kicked me out. Hey, it's all good. I'm making it. Got my own trailer and everything."

Andy stared at him then finally nodded getting back his change and grabbing the bag Parisi handed him.

"So, hey," Parisi started, "maybe we can hang or something. Get the rest of the team together."

"Uh, sure," Andy said, backing out of the store and gave him a final wave, "I'll tell them I saw you."

Before Parisi could answer, Andy had already made his way out of the store and walking swiftly to his car. He opened his car door and dropped his purchased items inside. He walked to the side of his car and opened the lid of his gas tank. He reached for the pump and and pulled it off, flipping the switch. He shoved it into his gas tank and leaned against his car.

Andy turned his head to look back into the store and shook his head. Parisi was staring at a magazine and looking incredibly bored. Andy had a sudden terrified thought. Was he going to end up like Parisi? Gene was the talk of the school during his four years in high school, he had even won national championships across the states. He was the star. How the hell did he end up at a gas station in some hick end of town. It was surreal. Andy did not want to end up that way. He didn't want to stay in Illinois, he wanted to leave the state and move somewhere else, away from this life his father had set up for him. But he didn't want to be like Parisi.

There was a click and Andy stood straight to pull the pump away from his tank. He replaced the pump and closed the lid of his gas tank. He reached for his door and stepped in, taking one last look in the store as he turned on his ignition. Parisi looked up then and gave Andy a small wave. Andy stepped on the gas and drove away from Shell.

Andy turned his car back onto the highway and headed for home. He was ready to talk to his father. He doubted he would regret it, but he felt terrified. He knew his father was going to be angry and his temper was going to rise, but Andy didn't want to end up in a gas station, replying on his parents. He did want to go to college. No, his grades were excellent, but they weren't bad. If he got into school with a scholarship, that's great, but wrestling or any sport for that matter wasn't going to dictate his life.

He realised he was a lot closer to home than he thought, but it still seemed to take forever because he was already second-guessing himself as he got closer home. It was too late to turn back now and he needed to get through this. Andy finally saw his house and turned into the driveway. It was dark outside as Andy turned off his car. And quiet. Andy took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. It was a familiar technique he used before every match. Breath and count to ten, simultaneously. It helped calm his nerves and forced him to focus. He opened his door and stepped out onto the driveway. His keys in his hands, he walked to the front door and placed his keys inside the lock.

"Andrew."

Andy turned his head when he walked in. His mother was sitting on the edge of the couch, her eyes red but dry. His father was beside her. He did not look happy at all and was glaring at his son. It looked as if his parents had been arguing all the way until they heard the door unlock.

"Where the hell have you been?" Andy's father said angrily, looking at him.

"Driving-" Andy started.

"'Driving'?" His father interrupted, standing now, "What the hell kind of answer is that?"

"George-" Andy's mother started, placing a hand on her husband's arm.

Andy's father pulled away and walked around the coffee table, toward his son, "Who the hell do you think you are, Andrew? Did you forget about the meet tomorrow?"

"No, I didn't." Andy said, between his teeth.

"Don't take that tone with me." Andy's father said, his finger pointing in Andy's direction, "What in the world did you think you're doing?"

Andy didn't say anything, his jaw set.

"Answer me, Andrew."

"I don't want to wrestle, anymore." Andy finally said, not really looking at his father.

There was a tense silence.

"Excuse me?" his father practically whispered out of anger.

"I don't," Andy swallowed and then looked at his father in the eye, "I don't want to wrestle, anymore."

"What do you mean you don't want to wrestle anymore?" His father asked slowly.

Andy sighed, trying to put the words together, "I want to wrestle because I choose to, not because you force me to."

"What? I've never forced you-"

"That's ALL you've done!" Andy yelled, his temper taken over his head.

His father blinked at Andy's shouts. He was speechless. Andy wasn't done, his anger spilling out of his mouth, "'FIGHT, ANDY'! 'WIN'! 'BE A WINNER, ANDY, NEVER A LOSER'! 'WIN'! 'WIN'! '_WIN_'!"

Fresh tears were falling down his mother's face, her hands around her head. His father was opening his mouth and closing it, not sure what to say. He had lowered his finger and he no longer looked angry. He was staring at his son as if realising who he was for the first time.

"That's ALL you cared about! Winning!" Andy yelled, all fear gone. Angry tears were welling in his eyes, his heart pumping in his ears, "Just _you_ and reliving your goddamned glory days! You tried it through Jeff and you _failed_, he moved away and has a life of his own. You won't even talk to him anymore. You've always done it through me! And Ryan...Ryan will never have to deal with you."

At the sound of his little brother's name, his father blinked and stared at Andy as if he just punched him in the face.

"I wish my foot _was_ broken." Andy conintued, "I wish you'd just forget all about me...I...I _fucking..._hate you."

Andy's vision was clouded with anger and tears and despair. He could hear soft cries from his mother and could see the outline of his father standing in front of him. He turned away and roughly wiped the tears that had fallen on his face with a hand. Silently, he walked toward the stairs and made his way into his room.

* * *

><p>Claire was making her way down the large stairs of the police station and headed for her car. She turned her head to say something to John, but he wasn't there. She stopped walking halfway down the steps and turned to see John still standing by the double doors of the police house. His hands were in his pockets and he was looking down, his eyes hidden under his hair.<p>

"John?" Claire called to him. When he didn't answer her, she walked up the steps again and stood beside him, "John, what's wrong?"

"Nothin'." He finally said and exhaled. He walked past her and down the steps, "I need to go."

"Go?" Claire asked his retreating back. She followed him quickly behind, "Go where?"

"Away." Was John's short answer as he stepped on the sidewalk and walked away from the police station and her car.

"Where Mark is?" Claire asked him. John didn't reply and walked faster, Claire keeping up, "That officer in there told you that was bad idea. John!"

"I have no other choice! Don't follow me!" John replied.

"Yes, you do! I'm offering you a place to stay!" Claire walked in front of him and placed a hand on his shoulder to stop him.

"Don't touch me." John said, but he stopped walking.

Claire removed her hand but stood her ground, "What the hell is wrong with you?"

John turned his head slowly to look at her. His glare frightened her, he was very intimidating when he wanted to be. She closed her eyes briefly and exhaled to calm her nerves.

"I'm offering you a place to stay. Why won't you take it?"

"I don't want your charity, princess." John replied simply.

"Charity?" Claire repeated then she narrowed her eyes, "This isn't about charity! You need a place to stay and I'm giving it to you. If you go back there, you're going to get arrested again and who knows if that officer in there will be able to help you next time? Apparently, you have quite the record! How is being in there going to help Mark, anyway? Huh? Can you answer that?"

John looked away, not saying anything.

"You are so fucking stubborn!" Claire said, frustratingly, "What are you afraid of?"

"Hey!" John said, rounding on her, "I'm not afraid of anything!"

"Yes, you are!" Claire retorted, staring back at John, "You're afraid of a lot and you can't admit to it because you don't want to be seen as weak. Well, guess what? I saw everything in that police station, Bender. I'm not about to forget it."

Claire watched John's face turn from angry to frustrated than finally defeat. No, Claire didn't know the whole story. She didn't know who Mark was or what was going on. She could figure out that this Mark person was probably very important to John that he would get himself arrested. Twice. She wasn't going to ask, though. It was not the right time. It might never be the right time. She had seen John Bender had his most vulnerable and he was probably hating himself for that. No way was Claire going to ask him any questions about his personal life. She also realised, this had to be his decision.

"I'm going to my car and I'll wait for awhile." Claire told him, reaching into her purse to pull our her keys, "I hope you come."

John wasn't really looking at her. She turned around and started to walk. She wanted to look back and see if he was following, but he might leave if she did. Or maybe he already left. She didn't know. Her heart was pounding in her chest but she wasn't going to allow it to take over, which surprised her slightly. It was interesting how much she had changed in just a matter of a week, had turned a new leaf. Claire decided she liked herself more.

Claire reached her car and placed her keys into the lock. Without looking, she slipped inside and closed the door. She sighed, wondering how much she should wait. She looked at her watch. It was almost nine. She'll wait ten minutes, that should be good enough. She sighed again and placed her arm back by her side, very tempted to look for John. She leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes-

Claire jumped at the sound of a knock on her passenger window. John. She looked at him for a moment before reaching over and opening the lock for him. John opened the door and climbed in, slamming the door beside him. He didn't say anything as he worked his jaw and frustratingly moved his hair away from his face. Claire allowed herself a small smile before turning on the ignition.

A half hour later, Claire was pulling up into her parents' driveway and parked her car behind her mother's again. She turned off her ignition and looked at John. His eyes were wide as he stared through the windshield at her house. Claire opened her door and stepped out, hearing John do the same.

"Holy shit, princess." John said, his eyes looking at the large cars in the driveway, the outline of the large house, the massive lawn that leads toward the front door, "I didn't know you were this filthy rich."

Claire chose to ignore this and led the way into house, past the small greenhouse and toward the front door. She placed her key into the lock and opened the door before stepping inside. She held the door open for John's heavy boots to make their way into her foyer, his eyes working every inch of the house. Claire continued, walking toward the kitchen where her father might be.

"Daddy?" Claire called.

"Sweetheart, is that you?" Her father was in the kitchen.

Claire walked in and stopped when she saw him, "Hi, daddy."

"Hey, sweetheart." Her father looked up from the paper and smiled, but it turned quickly into a frown when he saw John standing behind her, "Uh, Claire, who is this?"

"He's a good friend of mine." Claire said to him, taking a step forward, "and he needs a place to stay."

"Excuse me?" Her father said, raising his eyebrows, a glass of red wine in his hand. He looked at Claire then looked at John, "I'm-I'm sorry, who are you? Have we-have we met, before?"

John was exploring the kitchen now, opening cabinets and cupboards and reaching in to look through them. He turned his head to look at Claire's father and gave him a wide grin before before holding out his hand, "John. I made out with your daughter on the hood of your car on Saturday after detention."

"John..." Claire said softly at the same time her father sputtered into his wine.

"What? No, no, I'm sorry, Claire." Her father said standing and looking at John then at Claire, "No, he can't stay here. He's-he's a hoodlum-"

"Oh, let her have her fun, Edward." Claire turned her head to see her mother coming into the kitchen a bottle in hand and a large wine glass in the other. She was wobbling forward, a drunk grin on her face. She looked at John, looked him up and down a minute and laughed as she walked past him, "He's handsome, Claire."

Claire placed a hand to her forehead and sighed. She could feel her cheeks burning and a headache coming on.

"You put her up to this, didn't you, Belinda?" Claire's father started, now standing beside his wife as she found her bottle and slammed the door of the fridge shut, "I say no! I'm the man of this house-"

"Oh, shut up, Eddy." Claire's mother said, looking at him and slamming the bottle on the counter, "You haven't been 'man of this house' since your last girlfriend realised you couldn't bring it up anymore."

"Belinda!" Her father stuttered, "How-how dare you-"

Claire felt a presence beside her and she looked to see John, watching his parents, a small smirk on his face. She sighed softly, ignoring the shouts and reached for his hand, pulling him toward the back of the house, past the living room, the sitting room, the large dining room and toward the back garden. She opened the doors and stepped out onto the deck where the large near olympic-sized pool was located. She heard John whistle at the sight. Claire let go of John's hand and inhaled deeply before she screamed.

Silence.

"Feel better, princess?"

"Just a bit." Claire said with a sigh. She pointed over a fair distance away from the pool where a small attachment to the main house was sitting, "That's the pool house. It's a comfortable room. I used to stay in there when I needed to get away." _I still do_, she thought, "It's open."

"Don't you want to show me?" John asked her.

Claire looked at him then shrugged. She walked past the pool and led John toward the pool house. She reached for the handle and twisted it open. With her left hand she felt for the light switch on the wall and flipped it on. She moved to the side to allow John to walk through. She stared at his face and smiled. There really was quite a bit of pink inside the room. Her mother decorated it, but Claire had admit, she did like the colour. Maybe not so much anymore. She watched as John made his way around, fingering things, his eyes wandering. He finally settled on the edge of the bed his hands between his legs and sighed.

"I'll take it."

"Good." Claire nodded her head and pointed, "There's the bathroom, right through that door. I'll see you tomorrow, John."

"Ahh, princess." John started, looking at her, "I've got detention with _Dick_."

Claire giggled, "That's right. How many is that?"

"Seven...eight..." John started then shrugged. Claire gave him a smile and turned, then, "What, no kiss goodnight?"

Claire looked at him and shook her head, "Nope."

She was just about to leave when he called out to her, "So, what's this?"

"Uhm, be careful with that." Claire said quickly, walking into the room and taking an instrument case away from John who was holding it his hands, "please."

"What is it?" John asked again, looking at her, then the case.

Claire paused before answering, not really looking at him, "My violin."

"Violin?" John asked, disbelievingly.

Claire frowned, feeling defensive, "What?"

"A violin."

"Yes, a violin." Claire replied, her eyebrow furrowed, "What? You have a problem with me knowing how to play the violin?"

"I'm just...surprised. It's pretentious and fitting." John said, leaning back and smirking at her, "Play it."

"No." Claire said after a moment. She placed the violin back down on the floor, into a corner of the room, "Not now."

"Why not?"

Claire stared at him, frowning. She didn't quite know why she was becoming so angry with him, but she was. She turned and walked out of the room and said before closing the door behind her, "Just leave it alone, Bender. Good night."

* * *

><p>John stared after Claire's retreating back and watched her close the door, confused. He turned his head to look at the violin case in the corner of the room. He was tempted to look at it but he changed his mind. He stood up and pulled off his coats, throwing them on the bed. Then he kicked off his shoes and placed them by the door. He took another look at the room, frowning, letting out a small chuckle at the amount of <em>shit<em> that was in the room and so much fucking furniture. It was amazing anyone could navigate. It was a fire hazard.

John walked over to the bathroom door and opened it up. He was impressed. A large tub with a shower attached was in the middle of the room, a toilet and one of those things where the water shot up. John made a face, thinking about it. He stepped inside and reached for the shower knobs. He cocked his head trying to figure out how to use it. He reached for the largest one and turned it. It seemed to have started the tub tap. He looked up to the shower head and reached for another knob. Water spilled and jumped back in surprise, cold water on his face. He sighed, feeling agitated then reached and turned yet another knob. He placed his hand under the water and felt it growing warmer.

When John was finally finished with the bathroom he replaced his clothes and fell on the bed, landing on something lumpy. He sat up and reached behind him. Clothing; sweatpants and a t-shirt. They weren't there before. Claire must have walked in while he was bathing and left. John frowned, placing the clothes on the edge and falling back down, an arm behind his head. She was avoiding him. Probably, his fault; he was good at that. He shouldn't even feel bothered Claire was avoiding him, but he did and he found this incredibly annoying. He frowned at the ceiling, forcing himself to think about something else.

His stomach turned as he thought about Mark. He had never been so scared in his life. He truly thought his brother was hurt, badly, fatally. He wouldn't put it past his father. He also wish he had cigarettes. Was he going to be allowed back home? He was 17, not quite 18; he was still under his parents' care. John allowed a humourless chuckle under his breath. _Care_? His parents never cared about him. He didn't know how he survived his _own_ fucking childhood. He didn't have anyone growing up, just drugs and abusive parents. Mark had him. He needed to make sure of it.

He sat up, unable to sleep. He let out a frustrated grunt and stood, feeling his stomach growl. He sighed then crossed the room, opening the door to the room. He felt the cool air against his skin, but ignored it as he stepped out. He could hear the water in pool hitting softly against the tiled walls. There were lights at its bottom, reflecting off the water. John walked past the pool and reached the glass doors that led back inside the main house. He paused, wondering if Claire's parents were still inside. He felt weird. It was funny when her parents argued, but weird.

"John."

He turned around quickly and saw no one. He furrowed his eyebrows. He wasn't crazy. He heard a giggle and looked up. There was Claire sitting on the roof of her house. She was watching him from the edge of the tiles. He backed up a bit on the pool deck to see her properly. She gave him a small wave and smile.

"Hi." she said.

"Peepin' on me, Princess?" John asked, unable to stop himself, "Is that how you get your kicks?"

Claire rolled her eyes, "No."

"What are you doin' up there?"

"I sit here a lot. It's peaceful. You can see the whole city."

John looked over his shoulder, catching a glimpse of the city lights. He looked back up at Claire, who was staring out, "How'd you get up there?"

"My room." Claire said, pointing to a window right above her, "I took the screen out so I can leave whenever I want."

"Never thought you had it in you." John replied after a moment, drinking her in. He furrowed his eyebrows, shaking himself out of it.

"You don't know me that well, Bender." Claire said to him.

John wanted to, though. _Fuck_, he thought, angrily to himself. He looked back up at Claire who was no longer visible. Did she leave? He frowned, taking another step back to see and suddenly realised there was nothing there. He fell back landed in the water. He sputtered and coughed as his head found the surface again, and he reached for the edge of the pool. He could hear Claire laughing above him, but he ignored it, pulling himself out. He shuddered, it was fucking cold.

"You okay?" Claire called.

"No." John replied irritably, sitting on the side and shaking his wet hair out of his face.

"I'll be down in a second."

John sighed, his teeth chattering. He stood up and wrapped his arms around himself, heading for the pool house. He opened the door and stepped in, the warmth already washing over him, but it was still cold. He made his way to the bathroom and pulled the towel off the rack after stripping his clothes off. He towelled himself off and wrapped it around himself. He stepped out and reached for the clothes on the bed.

There was a knock on the door, "John? You okay?"

"Yeah." John answered, pulling the trousers on. They fit rather well, although he felt like an idiot. He pulled the shirt over his head before walking to the door and opened it.

Claire was standing there, another set of towels and clothes in her hands. She was smiling because she heard his stomach growl, "Hungry?"

John didn't answer her but she turned and started walking back into the house. He was hungry. He was always hungry. He hadn't eaten since...he just hadn't eaten. He sighed softly to himself before following Claire inside. She closed the doors behind him and started walking toward the kitchen, past all the different room inside the house. John had never seen a place so big. It reminded him of a mall. A big one, where you can find anything you wanted and everything was set up just so. Delicately and precisely, everything on display. Honestly, he just wanted to run a bat through the place. Not out of malice, but because it sounded like fun.

"I'm not much of a cook." Claire said to him apologetically, before opening the fridge, "but I can make a decent sandwich."

John felt uncomfortable as he watched Claire pull out bread, lettuce, cheeses, different meats, and other things he couldn't name. He wasn't sure what was wrong, but he was jumpy and everything felt strange to him. Almost as if something was out to get him if he were to eat anything he was given. Was it guilt? What was he worried about, beside Mark? This wasn't a worry-about-Mark feeling. This was something else and he had no idea how to describe it.

"John." Claire was calling to him. He looked at her. She gave him a weird smile, "Make a sandwich. I'm going to make my own."

John did and it was a little overwhelming to him how much food there was and he tried to put a little bit of everything, hoping to save some for his baby brother. Claire had laughed a bit at his mess, but he didn't care. He picked up his plate carefully and placed it on the kitchen counter across from Claire. He pulled out a stool and sat in front of his food. He wasn't entirely sure how to eat it.

He heard a metal clink and saw Claire placing a fork and knife in front of him. He made a face and picked up the sandwich and with great difficult took a massive bite, but most of the contents had fallen out and he just had a mouthful of bread. Claire let out a chuckle, but he ignored her as he began placing his sandwich's fallen contents back inside between the bread. He picked it up and tried again.

"Made it that time." Claire said, sitting on her own stool and placing two mugs between them. She had a bottle of red win in her hands and was prying the cork open. She poured the wine into the mugs before placing the bottle back on the table.

"Isn't that your mother's?" John asked, sniffing the wine and making a face.

"Believe me, she won't notice." Claire replied, taking a sip from her own mug.

John continued to eat, drinking the wine only hesitantly at first, not liking the sweet taste, but it was alcohol. Pretty soon, the two of them had finished and were rather drunk as they laughed together about absolutely nothing.

Claire was laughing harder now, her head on her arm against the counter. It was awhile before she was able to stop and John was feeling incredibly comfortable and calm. He watched Claire, a small smile on his face. Maybe it was the booze, John didn't know, but he honestly didn't want to _be_ anywhere else. It was difficult for John to admit it. Even now, he just couldn't allow himself to admit anything about her.

"I'm falling asleep, Bender." Claire said, standing slowly. She held onto the counter for support before steadying herself. She slowly reached for their plates and mugs, dropping them into the sink.

John was standing already, unable to control himself. He had made his way to Claire and was standing beside her. She turned her head to see John and gave him a small smile. John pulled her close and placed his mouth on hers. He heard a small moan and this made him happy. He pulled her in tighter.

They stood there for a moment before Claire pulled away from him, shaking her head, "No, no, no…"

John sighed, looking at her. She was making this extremely difficult.

Claire looked at him for a moment, biting her lower lip. _Fuck,_ John thought, _why does she do that?_ He felt her hand pat him lightly on the chest before she said a small "good night" and left.

* * *

><p>Brian was outside. His parents and Mary were out somewhere and Allison had given him a call. She sounded very upset and she had asked if he could hang. Of course, he obliged and walked out of his house, straight away. He made his way hurriedly walking past his neighbourhood and toward the main roads. Allison said they should meet at a local coffee shop. She wasn't very far from him, he knew her neighbourhood. He had ridden his bike around there a few times.<p>

When Brian spotted it across the street, he looked both ways before quickly jogging, fast-walking toward it. He pulled the door open, heard the slight jingle of bells above the door. He looked around, not seeing Allison right away. He walked over to the counter and sat at one of the stools.

"Can I get you anything, honey?" Brian looked up to see a rather portly older woman smiling at him, her name tag reading Bev.

"Uh, milk. Chocolate milk. Hot chocolate milk...please.." Brian said, feeling embarrassed suddenly.

"Sure thing." Bev replied, giving him another smile and turning away.

There was a jingle of bells behind him.

Brian turned his head and saw Allison making his way to sit beside him, her breath heavy as if she had been running. She looked nervous and angry and scared almost. Brian had never seen her this way. He kept his mouth shut as he watched her nervously place her bag on the counter, then back on her lap, then back on her counter. She took off her jacket and placed that across her lap. She wasn't looking at him, as she placed her hands on the counter.

Brian swallowed and asked while Bev placed his chocolate milk on the table, "Allison? You okay?"

Allison was staring at her fingers and looked at him but didn't say anything.

"Want anything, honey?" Bev asked Allison. She merely stared at the waitress until Bev just shrugged her shoulders and walked away to deal with other patrons.

"Alli-" Brian started.

"I made my mother cry." Allison whispered softly.

Brian blinked, confused, but he kept his mouth shut and waited, his hands around his chocolate milk.

"I don't remember ever seeing her cry before." Allison continued softly, "We never talked long enough."

Brian watched her for a moment, then he pushed his chocolate milk toward her. He could understand her frustration and surprise. Allison looked at the milk, then at Brian. She seemed a bit calmer and gave him a small smile before reaching for the hot beverage and taking a sip.

"I'm sorry." Brian said, looking at her.

Allison shrugged slightly, "Isn't your problem. I doubt things will change."

Brian nodded his head, not knowing what else he should do.

"So." Allison started taking another sip, "How have you been?"

Brian shrugged, "Okay. Mom raggin' on me all the time. All the news I've got."

"That's pretty boring, Brian." Allison said, smiling at him.

Brian nodded his head then, "Allison, I was, well, Claire was too, I mean, me at first, but you know, she did, too. Anyway, where have you been? You kinda disappeared."

"Sorry." Allison said, not looking at him. She shrugged, "Went into hiding. Won't happen again."

"Okay." Brian said, wishing she gave him an explanation. He looked at his watch and wondered whether is parents were back yet. He felt a chill across his chest but chose to ignore it, "Any plans for today?"

Allison shook her head, "Stay away from home for as long as possible. You know, every time I leave, I always think they're going to just pack my things and sell them on the front lawn as a yard sale. They've already changed the locks three times on me."

Brian paused, "Maybe they're just really distracted?"

Allison looked at him, realised he was joking and gave him a smile, "Plans?"

"Yeah, right." Brian said, looking at her, "My mother is still pissed about me getting detention and doesn't let me out of her sight."

"How are you here?"

"Snuck out. Parents are out." Brian said reaching for his wallet and pulling out some cash, "Speaking of which, I need to go."

"Don't let her get you down." Allison said, as Brian turned ad gave her a wave before heading back home.

Brian ran this time. He ran across the street, down the sidewalk and turned into his neighbourhood. Brian was not an athlete, he never was, but he ran as fast as he could, adrenaline pumping through him. He knew his parents were going to be in the driveway when he arrived, he knew the sort of hell he was going to receive when he walked in through the door. He knew his mother was going to scream at him, his father was going to stay silent, and his sister staring. He always felt shy and embarrassed. He had all this knowledge in his head and yet he was never able to tell people how he felt. He wasn't very confrontational, guess he probably got that from his father.

Was he destined for the life his father had? Married to a bitter woman, dominated by her force of nature and being disappointed by the family that he raised? Maybe, but he didn't want that to happen. Honestly, wasn't it his choice? Do the things he wanted? Ideally, sure, yeah, that would be the way to go. Brian had figured out the other day that he had the ability to make a decision. A big one. One that would probably change his life, hopefully, for the better.

Brian had an average 4.0, he was competing with Deb to become Valedictorian. Scholarships were easy for him and he was looking at schools that as far as away from Illinois as possible. He had even tempted to look at school outside the United States of America. He made the decision to leave. Thinking back, the very idea would have caused him a panic attack, but recently, things have changed and he has to assume for the better. Who knew detention was going to teach him a lesson?

Brian did receive the tongue-lashing, his father and sister followed the same pattern. He heard his mother berating him all through dinner all the way until he crawled into bed. And yet, he could hardly remember anything she said. She was like a broken record and he had finally found the volume switch, his next goal was the power switch. He wondered what would happen if he argued with his mother. Yelled back at her, explained the choice he's made. Wait. Would he tell her? Why would he tell the person he was trying to stay away from, exactly where he was going? She'd never leave him alone. Ever.

No, it'll be a secret.

* * *

><p><em>Ahh, the sound of growing up...<em>

_Hope you enjoyed it! Reviews are greatly appreciated!  
><em>


	8. Chapter 8

_It's been a terribly long while, a few months in fact..._

_ My sincere apologies; I've a dissertation to start and finish._

_Forgive me! :D__  
><em>

* * *

><p>Allison was hard at work. She had idea to finish her mural and spent most of the Saturday working on it. She finished the last bit, her hands covered in black soot. She placed a stub of charcoal piece on the ground beside her knees and stood. She walked backwards a bit so that her back was almost on the other side of her room and stared. She smiled to herself and wiped the sweat that had accumulated on her forehead. She walked across her room and reached for the handle of the large window facing her desk. She pushed it open and felt the breeze on her face, closing her eyes briefly and feeling the cool air. It was slightly cooler; winter was on its way. <em>About time<em>, Allison thought to herself. She was tired of school and winter meant summer was going to follow. Allison believed school should end already. She reached for her stomach after she felt a familiar rumble. Eating. She'd forgotten.

Then, she heard a knock.

Allison slowly turned her head to look behind her, feeling very confused. She cocked her head slightly and waited. Nothing. She looked back outside and stood on her toes to look at the ground below her. She thought maybe the knock had come from outside. There was silence as she waited. Furrowing her eyebrows, she shrugged her shoulders and let out a great yawn, thinking about what she was going to have for lunch. Late lunch. Early dinner?

There was a knock again.

Allison stopped in the middle of her stretch, her imagination running wild, a stranger in the house, a murderer, maybe her parents were selling the house and they forgot she was in here. Honestly, Allison wouldn't have been surprised by the last bit. There was another knock, louder, more confident. She turned her head; it was definitely on her attic door. She hesitated before taking a few steps toward the door and kneeling beside it. What should she do? She's never had a visitor before. Who could she hope for? Andy. Why would that happen, though? She's never told him where she lived. Allison doubted Andy even knew her last name; she was very good at keeping secrets.

Allison slowly reached for the handle of her attic door, her hand poised, but she didn't pull. Why should she? She jumped at another knock. This time it was a quick succession, loud and expectant, like a knock on the door of an interviewer.

"Allison?"

She felt very taken aback. That was her mother's voice. Weird.

"Allison? Open the door...please."

Automatically, Allison placed a fingernail into her mouth and started chewing. She was nervous. This was the first time in a long time her mother tried to initiate some sort of dialogue between the two of them. She wasn't sure what to do, except continue to chew on her nails.

"Is she even home?" Allison's father. He sounded impatient and let out an irritated sigh, "Come on, we're going to be late!"

Allison's mother ignored this and continued talking through the door, "Allison, someone called for you..."

She didn't answer. She felt strange and more out of place than she ever had; this bothered her. Allison's attic was her safe haven, her place of peace, somewhere she could be herself and do whatever she wanted without being judged or ignored. Her room was her sanctuary and her parents just violated it. She continued waiting as she felt her anger rising slowly. She heard footsteps retreating down the hall, her parents whispering amongst themselves. Well, her father muttering things harshly under his breath, Allison wasn't sure if her mother was answering. She didn't move from the spot until she heard the familiar sound of the front door slamming and her parent's car retreating from the driveway.

She waited five more minutes before she pulled open her attic door and already saw the ladder placed on the floor below. She stood up from her uncomfortable position on her floor and made her way down the steps. It was dark in the hallway, but she knew where to step and how to avoid the creaky carpet. Allison reached for the hallway light and touched the switch. The walls lit up and she almost immediately saw a post-it note taped to her ladder. She frowned and reached for it. There was an unfamiliar number written on it with no name.

"Good job, mother." Allison muttered sarcastically, turning the piece of paper over, hoping to see a name and finding none.

She sighed, wondering who the number belong to. Her first thought was Andy, but she never gave him her number. He asked for it though, but Allison just pretended she never heard him. Allison made her way back up to her room and headed for her desk. Her digital clock was glowing a bright red on her desk; 4:43. It's not late. Allison turned around and made her way back down to the floor below, her hand still clutching the piece of paper. She hurried down the stairs and went to the living room, reaching for a lamp. She was about to place a hand on the phone, but stopped, her hand hovering over the receiver. She straitened up, staring down at the sleek black phone on the side table. She was nervous. What if the number belonged to Andy? Would he be able to tell she was nervous? Of course he would. Maybe he didn't want to see her anymore? What did she do wrong?

"_Allison!" _Allison said loudly, reprimanding herself.

She took in a deep breath and sat heavily on the couch beside the table. Swallowing, she slowly reached for the receiver and pulled it toward her. The post-it note was on her lap, staring back at her through the light. The numbers were glowing faintly, waiting for her to press seven of the twelve buttons. Allison took in a deep breath and let it out as slowly as she could. She did this twice before she felt relatively confident. Slowly, she pressed seven numbers on the phone with her thumb before placing the speaker against her ear.

"Hello?" That wasn't Andy. It sounded like a woman. Maybe it was a mistake?

Allison let out a small gasp, "H-hi-I-I'm..."

"Honey, you're going to have to speak up. I can hardly hear you."

"It's for me, mom." That was Andy's voice in the background, "It's for me, thanks."

"Who is it, Andy?" Allison could hear Andy's mom speaking as the phone changed hands, "Is it a girl? Is she pretty?"

"Yes, mom, she's pretty." Andy hissed and Allison felt herself blush furiously, "Stop, stop. Hello? Hello, Allison?"

"Hi, Andy." Allison almost whispered, knowing full well he couldn't see her, but was hoping he wouldn't hear the sudden shyness in her voice.

"Hi, Allison."

There was a pause.

"I-I found your number in the phone book, I hope you don't mind." Andy replied. Allison could picture him, running a hand nervously through his hair, "There's a lot of Reynolds in the phone book."

"It's okay, Andy." Allison said, feeling herself calm as he talked. It was almost as if their personalities had switched, "Thanks for calling."

"Oh, o-oh, yeah. No problem." Andy cleared his throat. "Nooo problem..."

Allison bit her lip and asked coyly, "Are you nervous about something?"

"Nervous?" Andy let out a funny chuckle, "Why would I be nervous? I'm not nervous."

Allison then decided to try and make the situation comfortable for him; something Hashimoto often did for her, "Want to hear what I did today?"

"Uh, sure." Andy said, sounding slightly relieved.

Allison smiled, "I've been using the walls in my room as a blank canvas. I worked on a wall, all day today. Didn't even eat."

"Cool." Was Andy's reply, "Can I see?"

_No,_ Allison thought, _no one is allowed in my room,_ but said instead, "It isn't finished yet."

"Oh." Andy said awkwardly, "Then, when will it be finished?"

"When I graduate." Allison decided just then and there. She sighed then and said softly, "I made my mother cry."

"What?" Andy said, sounding slightly startled, "What happened?"

Allison shrugged, "Dunno. I yelled at her. When I saw her again, she was crying."

"Huh..." Andy replied, distracted. He let out his own sigh over the phone, "I told my dad I hated him."

"Don't you?" Allison asked him after a small pause.

Andy didn't answer right away, "Yeah, I guess..."

There was another pause.

"Listen, you haven't eaten, right?" Andy asked, changing the subject.

"No." Allison replied, fully aware of the growling in her stomach increasing.

"Let's get some food."

"...Now?"

"Well, no, I-I mean, it doesn't have to be _now_. Soon? T-tonight? May-maybe?" Andy stuttered.

Allison giggled softly, "I'd love to."

"Oh, good, I mean, great." Andy said, sounding happy, "In the mood for pizza?"

Always. "Okay."

"Great. Can I pick you up? Around 7?"

Allison started, feeling taken aback. She opened her mouth and closed it several times, unable to speak.

"Allison? You there?"

"Uhh.." Allison managed to whisper.

"Is your address the same as in the phone book?"

Unable to stop herself, she told him where she lived. When Allison got off the phone she felt her heart moving quickly and felt absolutely elated. She sat up straight in her seat, but then, it quickly turned into panic. She was going on a date, a first date. With Andy. With anyone... She, Allison, was going on a date with him, Andy, for the first time. She couldn't do this by herself. Everything she owned was black or grey or ripped. Her eyes caught her hands. They were covered in coloured pain and under her fingernails was black chalk from charcoal. She sighed as she leaned back into the couch, her eyes closed and her messy hands covering her face.

Allison paused and dropped her hands. She frowned into the light staring. Allison had never worried about her appearance before. She preferred the lack of attention and she liked hiding in a corner where she was easily forgotten. Why did she feel so different? Allison wasn't sure she was ready for it. She looked at her lap, noticing Andy's number silently sitting on her dark jeans. The receiver was still in her hand and she very tempted to call Andy back and cancel the whole thing. Allison wasn't ready, this was a huge step. No, she had to cancel. Allison pressed the buttons on the phone, but then paused at the last number.

She really, really liked Andy. What was she going to do? She heard the dial tone on her phone pressing Allison to press the next number. She replaced the receiver on the phone and retracted her hand back onto her lap. What was Allison going to do? Then she looked up.

Allison needed Claire.

* * *

><p>Andy was in his room. He'd been there all day, avoiding his father and his mother. It wasn't hard. His father was ignoring him and every time Andy walked into a room, his father stood up from wherever he was, stopped whatever he was doing, and left. Andy wasn't sure how he felt about it. At first, he was slightly hurt, but then he reminded himself that his father deserved it. No, perhaps mentioning Ryan was a bad move, but Andy had no other way to explain to his father how he felt. Then Andy felt angry, his thoughts darkened and knew what he had done was right.<p>

The only thing that bothered him was how upset he had made his mother. Andy could tell she had been crying. The glances he did catch, Andy could sometimes see her eyes puffy and red. Even when she smiled at him or spoke to him, Andy could see the memories he made her remember. He didn't like that and he knew he hurt her. _But_, Andy reminded himself, _Dad needed to know._ Still, hurting his mother was the last thing he ever wanted to do.

Andy stood up from the edge of the bed and slowly stretched his leg with his hurt ankle before opening the door to his bedroom and heading down the stairs. He sighed silently, pausing to stare at the photographs that were on the wall by the stairs. He had a sudden idea and quickly made his way to his kitchen. He knew his parents weren't home. His father was gone, muttering something about work at the office and his mother had left to some cooking show thing. He reached for the phone in the kitchen and dialed a number.

Andy leaned against a kitchen counter and waited. There were about four rings before someone picked up, "Hello?"

"Hi. It's Andy."

"Oh, hey, Andy!" said the woman on the other end, an accent evident with her English, "It's good to hear from you. Are you looking for Jeff?"

"Yeah." Andy replied, hearing a toddler crying in the background and let himself smile, "Is that Ryan, whinin'?"

The woman gave an airy laugh and a small groan, "Yes, it is. He's teething at the moment. Ow."

"What happened?"

"He just gummed my finger. He needs his teething ring." The woman said good-naturedly. He heard a freezer door open and then shut closed. There was a bit of cooing and the crying stopped. "Andy, hun, Jeff isn't home. He went to Home Depot. He got it in his head that he wants to construct a bookshelf. He left a little over a half-hour ago, but he should be here in a minute."

"Oh." Andy said, feeling very disappointed, "Okay."

There was a slight pause, "You okay, Andy? Everything alright at home?"

"Yeah."

René must have heard something in his voice because she the said, "Well, speak of the devil. Here, why don't you talk to Ryan for awhile until Jeff steps in? I hear his car in the driveway. Ryan loves you, you know. He knows your voice."

"Sure." Andy replied, now walking over to the kitchen table and sitting on a chair beside it. There was a bit of rustling and he heard noises only a baby could make on the other end. "Hey, kid."

A small pause and the cooing continued.

Andy smiled, leaning against his knees, "You've got big shoes to fill, kid. Hope you know that. Ryan was the greatest brother there ever was. He would have been your favourite uncle. He was smarter than I ever was, athletic, and sweet. He would never had made the same mistakes I did."

Giggling. Andy heard noise in the background of a door opening and the low voice of his brother. He could hear René and him talking briefly. Andy heard Jeff giving Ryan a kiss and greeting before reaching for the receiver and talking into it.

"Hi, doofus."

"Hey."

Jeff must have noticed something immediately, "What's wrong?"

Andy wanted to say "Nothing, everything was fine", but he changed his mind as he stared at the floor under his feet. He called Jeff for a reason, why the hell would he back off now? Andy sighed and as causally as he could, he shrugged his shoulders slightly, "I quite wrestling."

"Did you." was the reply and small sigh. There was a scrape of a chair and Andy knew he was sitting, "Okay. Big decision."

"Yeah." Andy said softly. He wasn't sure what else to say and leaned back against the chair.

Jeff inhaled and let it out slowly, "That couldn't have gone very well with dad."

Andy didn't say anything, and shook his head, more for himself.

"How is he?"

"What do you think?" Andy replied, his temper getting the better of him has his free hand moved into a fist, "Angry, annoyed. Being an asshole."

"Yeah." Jeff said, sounding a bit sad.

Andy recalled every bit of the argument when Jeff told his father he wasn't playing sports anymore. It was constant bickering and tension in the air; dad angrily trying to convince Jeff that sports was a matter of discipline and Jeff will never get anywhere in life without it. Why should he quit something he was so good at? Jeff would yell back that he always hated playing sports and only did it because he was too terrified to say no. This eventually led to Jeff moving out of the house in bitterness and resentment, friction still quite raw to this day. His mother was caught in the middle, trying not to chose sides and Andy watched all of it, secretly telling himself he would never do what Jeff did. Never.

Ha.

"Andy," Jeff continued, slowly, trying to make a point clear, "you have to decide whether this decision is making you happy, does that make sense?"

"I am happy." Andy replied, as if it were obvious.

"Yeah, and I get that." Jeff replied, "You are. Can you do me a favour, though?"

"Yeah?" Andy said, wondering what he wanted.

"Before telling coach and even your friends, I want you to continue going to practices." Andy was trying to say something in protest, but Jeff raised his voice over him, "Mum told me you hurt your ankle so it's good that you can sit on the sidelines and just watch. See if your attitude will change."

"It isn't going to change, Jeff." Andy replied stubbornly, standing up from his chair and starting to pace, "I mean, you left and you're happy, aren't you?"

"I am, I really am, but Andy, my life is different from what yours is going to be." Jeff explained, "I've always hated sports. I liked the library more than my friends on the team. You don't hate sports and you're good at them. All of them."

Andy didn't say anything and stopped pacing.

"Maybe it's the wrestling you hate. Dad was a wrestler so he pushed both of us in that direction. I never liked it, but if I recall, you really liked swimming. Really liked it."

Andy bit his lower lip. Jeff was right.

"Don't shut out all your options just yet." Jeff finished, "Okay?"

"...Yeah." Andy said, feeling defeated as he fell back into the chair.

"So!" Jeff started, sounding deliberately cheery, "Girls? You always have some blond with massive bozankas hanging on your arm."

"Jeff!" René said from the background,

"Ow!" Was the reply. It sounded as if René had hit him, "What?"

This made Andy smile and he laughed as he proceeded to tell his older brother how very different Allison was from any girl he used to date.

"Wow," Jeff said after Andy had finished describing her, "You must be smitten, Andy. That took almost 20 minutes. Are you going steady?"

"S-steady?" Andy started, confused. The word sounded so foreign.

"Yeah, steady. Dating? Touching each other in places parents wouldn't approve of."

"Jeff! Seriously?" René said in the background, "Don't tell your brother that!"

"He'll find out soon enough, sweetie." Jeff told her.

"On his own. He doesn't need his older brother giving him tips." A pause, "They're bad ones."

"Hey!" Jeff said, sounding somewhat hurt.

Andy was smiling at the friendly squabbling over the phone. He wished his parents were like that and he hoped he'd have a relationship like that one day. Maybe even with Allison.

"So, did you ask her on a date, yet?" Jeff said, turning his attention back to Andy.

"I..." Andy felt embarrassed and could feel his cheeks burning, "no, I haven't."

"The hell you waiting for?" Jeff exclaimed over the phone, "Don't wait around. How do you think I got René?"

"Luck!" René replied and she giggled.

"Ask her out." Jeff said over the phone, "Simple, nothing crazy. This Allison chick, sorry, _girl_, doesn't seem like someone who'd want to go dancing."

Andy and his brother talked for a bit longer before they hung up. Andy was biting the inside of his cheek. He had a lot on him mind. All Andy knew was sports and he was good in every one he did. Could he contribute that to his father? Partly, perhaps, but he had to admit how angry he was when his father told him to quit swimming and move on to something else. It was far too serious at the moment to think about. He stood up and opened the lower cabinet beside the phone, the receiver still in his hand. He reached for the massive yellow phonebook and opened it up. Andy suddenly felt the contents in his stomach, churning.

* * *

><p>Claire opened her eyes suddenly. For a moment, she couldn't remember where she was, but only a moment. She stared up at her ceiling, her thoughts immediately moving to John. Claire wondered if he was up. She wondered if he was thinking about her at that very moment. She wondered if he remembered last night. Claire had pushed him away, after that kiss. A really good kiss, but she had to. She couldn't find herself trusting him. She didn't think she was strong enough. John had an image and as much as she wanted to ignore that, thinking that he really wasn't like what he was reputed to be, she's seen it first hand and was always disgusted by it.<p>

That was before realising how much she liked him.

Claire turned over in her bed and went under her covers, into foetal position. Here she felt safe, at least for the moment. Claire knew Bender smoked like a chimney, changed girlfriends as often one was supposed to change underwear, even wearing two at the same time, and drugs. Why was she so attracted to him? Probably because he was so different from anyone she had ever met before. Very different. Why couldn't she think of anyone else? There were plenty of cute boys in her year. Claire removed the covers from her bed and stretched. She sat up and turned to place her feet on the floor. She stood, stretched again and reached for her bookshelf. She looked at the titles until she found last year's yearbook. She went back to her bed with the yearbook in her arms. She crawled back into bed and sat up against the wall, her covers over her legs.

Claire opened up the hardcover yearbook and looked at her junior year, staring at the marking her old friends made and photos of the boys they all thought were cute. Some were really good looking, others not so much. She saw Bender's picture and raised her eyebrows. There he was, looking sullen and angry. She remembered hearing about this photo; it was his second one he was forced to take because the first one had him with his middle finger in front of his face. She smiled to herself as she roved over the other faces. She'd see a guy she thought was cute and then found herself looking back at Bender's photo. None of them appealed to her as much as John did and it was driving her crazy. She turned the page and found Andy, looking as good as ever, it was almost unrealistic how very much the same each jock looked in their photographs; almost cookie-cutter as if made over and over again in an assembly line. Claire turned the page again and saw Brian's photo and laughed out-loud.

"Oh, Brian." Claire said softly to herself.

Brian wasn't ready for the photograph at all. One eye was opened and the other half-closed as if he was about to scratch it. He also had that awful bracing equipment he needed for his teeth. Claire stopped laughing, suddenly feeling very guilty. She remembered making fun of Brian when she saw this picture. Her friends had written what a dork he was and other things that were not so very nice. Someone had even drawn Brian with a noose around his neck. This made Claire's stomach particularly flutter, remembering what Brian had told her and the others what he wanted to do that one Saturday afternoon. She closed the yearbook with a slam and threw it away from her, promising herself that she was going to burn it. Claire crossed her arms and looked around the room.

Her room. Her room was not her. Claire frowned as she looked at the items around her; her white vanity sitting in a corner covered in makeup and perfumes and jewellery. Her pink walls were covered by music bands, bands she didn't really listen to at all, music her friends wanted to listen to and she told them she did. In fact, the only poster she liked was something she chose herself, of Antonio Vivaldi. It was a poster she actually covered up whenever her friends were around because she knew she would be made fun of. Even the bed she was sitting on she chose because she thought that was what her mother wanted. Everything in her room she hated. Claire _hated_ her bedroom.

"Wow." Claire said to herself, feeling incredibly depressed.

Once again, Claire, removed her covers and stepped away from her bed. She went over to her windows and pulled open the soft pink shades. The sun shown through as she looked out into the city. It must have been late, Claire was in bed for a long time-hangover-but that was over now. She stepped on her toes and tried to look down at the pool house below. It was quiet and the shades were drawn. Maybe he was still sleeping, no he couldn't have been; detention. Claire sighed, leaning against the window, her mind wandering about him. She wished she knew what was going on his mind about her. She wished he liked her as much as she liked him. He kept his thoughts and feelings hidden. Claire was convinced he would just get what he wanted from her and then throw her away. Claire was getting angry.

She looked away, trying to force her mind away from such thoughts. Claire just needed to be wrong. She took one look around her room and reached for the nearest poster and tore it down. She tore every poster leaving only the Vivaldi one up. She walked over the glossy, papery mess on the floor and stared at her vanity. She frowned and looked around her room. She saw the rubbish bin by her closed bedroom door and walked over to it to pick it up. She made her way back to the vanity and placed the bin against it, one hand holding it up. With one fell swoop, Claire placed her arm over all the makeup and perfumes and shoved them into the bin. There was a satisfying smattering of dull clanks as each item landed heavily. She placed the bin on the ground and reached for her jewellery rack. The big ostentatious jewellery; the large rings, the long earrings, the expensive necklaces and brooches, she dropped from the rack onto her now empty vanity.

She left only a few items, things she'd never part with because they were special or she didn't have the strength to give up; in particular, a small necklace her favourite grandmother had given her before she died, a small ring she had found when she was young; it always seemed to give her luck, and the Tiffany diamond earring, its pair given to Bender. She replaced the rack back on her table and looked at the jewellery on the desk. She reached around for her bookshelf and pulled down a large empty shoebox and shoved all the jewellery inside.

Next she turned her head and saw the long length mirror she always stared at before leaving her room. With effort and a lot of grunting, Claire opened her bedroom door and shoved the heavy mirror outside her room and closed the door. Next, she tackled he bed. It was a massive four-poster bed with a pink chiffon material hanging amongst the four posts. Each post was tied with a pink bow and could be undone to cover the bed in the cloth material. Claire reached for the cloth and as hard as she could, she pulled the chiffon and heard a satisfying rip. Claire went to work, ripping and pulling the extra fabric around and on the bed, pulling even the covers. She needed to redo everything in her life. Everything.

Claire was standing in a mess, now, but she knew what to do. Feeling relieved and excited, she pulled open her bedroom door and stepped out. She needed boxes, containers, something. She made her way down the stairs, not caring whether her parents were awake or not and quickly headed toward the garage.

"Claire!"

Claire stopped short and turned in surprise. Andrea was there, an amused look on her face, "Hi, Andrea, how are you? How's Marcus?"

"Good, he's much better." Andrea replied, leaning against the mop she had in her hands, "You look like you're in a hurry."

"I am." Claire said, walking toward the woman, "I'm rearranging my bedroom. My whole life. I'm redoing everything. Do you know how relieving that is?"

"Sounds like fun." Andrea said with a smile and twinkle in her eye, "Do you need help?"

"No, I can do it." Claire replied, making her way toward the garage again, "I can do this."

Claire was sweating by the time she had brought all the empty containers from the garage and storage rooms there was in the house. When retreated back into her room and picked up the old ripped posters off the floor and chose a box as the garbage. She went back inside and picked up her old bed sheets, replacing them into a container. She had decided all the items she had she was going to give away. Now it was time to tackle her closet. She didn't realise how many damn shoes and clothes and just general accessories she had. Between her arms, Claire pulled down as many of the clothes she had and dropped them into the nearest box. It took nearly two hours, but she managed to fill three large boxes with most of her clothes and two more with shoes. The only piece of clothing she had in her closet was a summer dress, blue and simple, something she had never worn outside her room.

"Claire, sweetie?"

She turned her head and saw Andrea had made her way up the stairs, a plate with a sandwich on it in one hand and a cup of water in the other. Andrea's eyebrows were raised high, almost covered by hair as she looked at the boxes, then at Claire.

"Hi." Claire said, with a smile, wiping away the sweat on her forehead.

"Here." Andrea said, handing over the food and drink, which Claire took gratefully as she stepped over the boxes, "You looked like you needed it."

"Thanks, Andrea." Claire said with a sigh as she sat on the floor and started to eat, "I'm so hungry. Is Mum or Dad around?"

"No." Andrea said, settling herself on the top stair and leaning against her hands to look at Claire, "Your dad had an emergency and left for court, and your mother mentioned something about a lunch party at the club?"

"Was she driving?" Claire asked her a bit worriedly.

"No, baby." Andrea replied, shaking her head, "I made sure David drove her."

Claire smiled, "Thanks."

"How's it going here?" Andrea asked, smiling.

"Excellent." Claire said, with a mouthful of sandwich. She reached around for a small jewellery box and placed it beside Andrea before picking up her glass of water, "I want you to have that. It's very important to me that you do."

Andrea stared at the box and frowned, but didn't pick it up, "What is it?"

"Important." Claire said, finishing up her drink, "I've had it most of my life. I earned it when I played the violin. Huh, figures I used the money to buy jewellery."

"You don't play anymore, do you?" Andrea said, still not picking up the box.

Claire sighed, not saying anything, "I also know you have a grand daughter about my age. I have a lot of clothing and shoes I would love for her to have. If you don't take it, I'm just going to give it away to charity. I'm not keeping anything."

Andrea hesitated, then picked up the small box beside her and opened it, "Oh, Claire. It's beautiful."

"I never wore it, but it's important to me." Claire said, enjoying the hug Andrea gave her, "Will you take the dresses as well?"

Andrea made a face but then slowly nodded, "Sure."

Claire smiled and felt relieved, "You know, as much as I want to change, I still enjoy shopping."

Andrea laughed, then, "Why the sudden change, sweetie?"

Claire looked at her than shrugged, "I've noticed I'm not very happy. Everything I've done has always been for someone else-how I dressed, how I looked, who I hung out with. It's about time I've done things for me. I really don't like the colour pink anymore."

"What's your favourite colour?"

"Blue." Claire said out-loud. That was weird. That word sounded so odd on her tongue, but that's how she felt.

Andrea laughed, standing, "I'll call up my sons and have them help you with these boxes."

"Okay." Claire said, handing over her empty plate and glass.

A few hours later, the boxes were gone and Claire was wearing her blue dress, a simple jacket and shoes and headed down the stairs when she heard the phone ring. She heard Andrea pick it up then called out to her.

"Claire, it's a friend. Allison?"

_Allison_...? Claire made her way over to Andrea, reaching for the phone.

"You look so pretty, Claire." Andrea whispered before handing over the receiver.

Claire smiled, mouthed a "thank you" before saying, "Allison? Hi."

"Claire." Andrea said, softly. It sounded as if Allison wanted to say something but she wasn't. Claire was about to speak again when Allison rambled on, "AndyaskedmeonadateandIneedyourhelpcanyouhelpme?"

Claire heard Allison take in a deep breath and let it out, making Claire laugh out loud.

"What?" Allison said irritably, "Why are you laughing? What did I say?"

"Nothing, nothing." Claire said, trying to hold in her giggling and keep a straight face, "Of course, I would love to help you. When's the date?"

"Tonight. Seven o'clock."

"Okay." Claire said with a nod, "Tell me your address and I'll take you shopping with me."

"...Shopping?" Andrea said, hesitantly, "Why do I need to go shopping?"

"I've seen your clothes." Claire said, and mentally slapped herself, "Sorry, that was mean. I meant, if you're asking me for help, then we need to go all the way. We'll shop together. I'm making some changes myself."

Allison didn't answer right away, "Okay. And. Thank you. Claire."

Claire smiled, "Anytime."

* * *

><p>It wasn't even light when Bender woke up that morning. Didn't matter. He hardly slept, that night. Beside the fact that Claire was only 20 feet away, he had his mind on Mark and what might happened to his little brother if he wasn't around. It was the first time he was away from Mark and he hated it. He was listening to Williams and doing everything in his power to keep away from the house but it was hard. So hard. John then made a decision.<p>

Bender grunted and sat up, placing his feet on the carpeted ground. He stripped off the clothes he slept in and placed them on the bed. He reached for his own clothes and threw them on. He hesitated, then reached for the clothes and folded them neatly on the bed, and rearranged the sheet covers, neatly. Looking around to make sure he hadn't left anything, he opened the door to the pool house and stepped out. Quietly, he closed the door behind him and walked along the pool. He took a moment to look at the dark bedroom into Claire's but shook his head and continued on. He reached the high fence that surrounded the backyard and with his arms, pulled himself up and jumped over it, giving Claire's bedroom window one last look.

John ran then, from Claire's house, past the neighbourhood of the richest folks in the city, and down the hill. John was breathing and sweating hard by the time he reached the bottom, cringing a bit from the slight pain in his ribs. Bender took a few more breaths before he started to run again, and made his way to the police station. It took nearly 45 minutes, but he finally made it. He looked inside, taking in deep breaths. He really needed to lay off the cigarettes. He placed his hands over his eyes and leaned into the windows trying to see through. There was movement and a shadow. Bender waited, hoping it was Williams. No, it was some gopher. The police officer was frowning as he pointed to his watched and mouthed "Closed."

"I know it's closed, I can read, dumbass." Bender said loudly and angrily. No, he didn't have to say that, but there was no other way to get the officer's attention.

Just as predicted, the officer walked over to the door and pulled out a massive set of keys. He unlocked the door and opened it just a bit and stared at Bender, hard, "You really want to be talking to an officer like that, kid?"

"I need to talk to Detective Gene Williams." Bender said, ignoring the policeman.

"In the morning." The officer stated, "You can come back in four hours."

"Williams, Gene. Detective." Bender said slowly, "Is. He. Here?"

"I'm not going to tell you again." The officer replied, watching him, and placing his hands on his belt, "Come back at eight."

With that the officer closed the door and locked it, placing his hands over his chest and watched to see what John was going to next. Bender made a face, stuck his middle finger at the officer and turned away in a huff. It wasn't his only option, though and John made his way to the street to run again. He knew where Williams lived, but it was far. It would be another hour of running. Still, John only had Mark on his mind and he would do anything.

The sun was now peeking over the clouds and the old houses of the neighbourhood. John was tired and he was starting to feel light-headed, but he needed to get there. When he finally found William's neighbourhood, he slowed down to a jog, trying to remember exactly when the house looked like. It was difficult, all the houses looked pretty much the same. There it was, Williams' old brown Buick. He stopped then and placed his hands on his knee and bent down to catch his breath. He couldn't stop though, pushing hard he reached the door of the house and he knocked on the door with one hand and reached for the bell with the other. He didn't stop until he heard movement and the door opening.

"Who the hell-Bender? Is that you?"

John let out a tired exhale, took a moment to look up and nodded his head, "Hi...Detective...Williams..."

"The hell?" Williams said, opening his front door wider and stepping down his front steps and standing beside John, "What happened? Why are-what's going on?"

"I...needed...to talk...to you." Bender said, standing straight again and winced as he felt his stomach muscles stretch painfully.

"Are you serious?" Williams said impatiently, "This couldn't wait? Do you know what time it is? I had another hour to sleep. What is wrong with you, Bender?"

"I want custody of Mark..." Bender said quickly, moving his hair away from his sweaty forehead and looking up at the detective's surprised face as he breathed in deeply, "I want custody...of Mark..." He groaned.

"What?!" Williams said, "Are you...You're serious. Oh, my fucking-damnit, Bender. It's is too damned early for this-"

"Gene?" Said a voice from inside, a woman's voice, "Gene, baby, who is it? Gene?"

"Hi...Mrs...Williams..." John managed to say, his breath finally catching up to him.

"Oh, John! It's John, honey." Betsy said, pulling her robe tighter around her before make her way down the steps toward Bender with a wide smile.

"I know who it is, Betsy, damn." Williams muttered, clearly annoyed.

"Oh, come here, baby." Betsy said, reaching for John and placing her arms around him giving him a warm hug. John always liked Mrs. Williams's hugs, "Come on inside, and I'll cook you something wonderful to eat."

"Oh, Besty," Det. Williams started, "don't bring in the stray-"

He stopped talking with one look from his wife and John laughed at this, but barely. He could hardly breath, yet. Betsy led him inside the warm, cozy home. Old brown furniture and photographs filled the living room and the hallways in a lovely, organised mess. Betsy made her way into the kitchen which looked as if it were from the 40's; black and white checkered tiled floor, bright blue counter tops and polka dotted chairs and stools beside the wooden table and kitchen counter. Besty made John sit on a chair and made her way to the coffee pot before taking out some pots and pan. Williams was standing in the middle of the kitchen doorway, his arms across his chest and not looking very happy at all. John had to admit, he was feeling guilty, but he needed this. He needed to keep Mark safe, and if it was going to tramp on someone's privacy, just for a bit, so be it. He would do anything. Williams was the only one he knew that might be able to help him.

Williams let out an irritable sigh as he made his way to his wife. He placed a hand on her back and kissed her softly on the head. Betsy straightened up gave him a small nod before she continued cooking. Williams then reached for a mug, hesitated, then reached for another. He poured the newly made fresh coffee into each of the mugs and brought them over to where John sat, perhaps placing the cup a bit harder than he should of. John could see the vein in William's temple pulsing, but he stayed his ground. _Not the time to make jokes_, _Bender_, he thought.

John watched as Williams reached for the old-fashioned fridge and pulled out some milk and closed it before reaching for a small jar on top, it looked as it was filled with sugar. Williams then set the items on the table in front of John who hadn't touched his coffee because he was trying to catch his breath. He could hear the sizzling of and bubbling of food that being made on the stove. It was smelling delicious and Bender's stomach growled. Williams let out a sigh, interrupting John's thoughts and sat heavily into his seat.

"You're in my home, now," Williams said, looking at him, "drinking my coffee and about to eat what my wife is making for you. Wanna tell me why?"

John took in a deep breath, his thoughts running a mile a minute. All the time he was running he was thinking. A lot. "Mark."

"What about Mark?" Williams said, sounding bored and irritable, as he spooned in some sugar and stirred his cup.

"I want custody of him." John said, his hands still folded in front of him.

"I've heard as much." Williams said, sniffling and placing his spoon in the table, "So what?"

John sighed, "I'm turning 18, next month. Legally, I'll be an adult. I can't trust my parents with him. I don't want Mark living with them."

Williams took a sip of his coffee and then placed it gently on the table, "Do you know what you're asking, boy?"

"Yeah, I-"

"No, you don't." Williams said, interrupting him, "As far as the law is concerned, you're a far-cry from a capable care-taker. You have no home of your own, you hardly make any money, and don't forget about the record you've got; theft, assault, driving without a license. And I _know_ there's a lot more more that _should _be in there, _felonies, _kid."

John worked his jaw and furrowed his eyebrows.

Williams wasn't done, but his tone was softer, "Not only that, there is no conceivable evidence there was any child abuse in that house. None. Any sort of files that were charged were dropped. I know what you went through, John, what you're _still_ going through, but, well, I've explained this to you already, you don't need to hear it again."

"Ma-" John started to say,

"And I _know _you're worried about Mark." Williams said, looking at him, his fork and knife poised over his food. Det. Williams's eyes and words were not unkind, "I promise you, I'm not letting this go, but frankly, you need to be realistic, Bender."

"Here you go." Betsy, said, interrupting the two of them. She dropped a place in front of her husband and then another in front of John which had obviously more food on it than the detective's plate; more sausages, more toast, even an extra egg. Gene noticed but said nothing except make a face, "I have an idea, Gene."

Williams sighed and rubbed his eyes, "About what, Betsy?'

"There's a few favours I can cash in at the office and on the force." Betsy said, looking at him then gave a smile to John, "I can ask a friend to go to that house every week. We can come up with an excuse. It'll work out fine."

John widened his eyes and waited in anticipation. Could that work? Once a week. That's not enough. His parents were fucked-up, but they weren't stupid. They would know. They would hide the bruises, clean up the house. No, no, no...

"And what excuse do you have in mind, Betsy?" Williams continued the conversation, cutting up his sausages with his fork and knife, "You ain't supposed to know about this case."

"You're forgetting who I am, Gene Williams. Eat honey." Besty said to John. She was now sitting beside John and had placed her own plate of food in front of her.

"My wife." Williams said, irritably.

"Yes, I am your wife. I was also in the force before I went into social work." Betsy said, slashing at her own sausages, "And don't you be tellin' I don't know what I'm talking about because I do. The police hadn't changed that much and believe me when I say, when I want somethin' done, it'll get done. Understood?"

Williams muttered something.

"What did you say?" Betsy demanded.

"Nothin'." Williams said, louder.

"My parents will know." John finally said, looking at his plate of food. He couldn't eat.

"Know what, baby?" Betsy said, kindly.

"They'll know when you're coming." John said, looking at her and feeling angry, "They'll hide everything, all the evidence, bruises, cuts, messes, drugs, whatever..."

"I may look young, but I'm not." Betsy replied, laughing, "Everything will be unscheduled, dear, don't you worry about that. If anything, I'll do it myself."

"Now _that_," Williams said, looking at her, "is _not_ going to happen."

"Why not?" John asked, curiously. He wouldn't have minded that at all.

"Too close to the case. Won't be allowed." Williams wiped his mouth with a napkin and spoke again, looking at John who was now busily eating. He was feeling happier now, he might have a chance for something, at least he'll know Mark is okay. Things might just work out. Maybe. "Listen, don't get your hopes up. These things take time and you need to be careful. You need to keep that temper in check or you'll never see Mark again, you hear me?"

"Gene, don't scare the boy!"

"No, Betsy, he needs to know." Williams said firmly and looked at John again who was listening intently. The thought of losing Mark scared him, "You need to prove you're worth the time and effort of taking care of a little boy. Get rid of those bad habits you've got and grow up. You'll be 18, fine, find an apartment. Keep yourself clean and your nose out of trouble and you'll get a chance. A slim chance is better than none. Got it?"

John stared at him then slowly nodded.

"Good. Finish up and get out of my house."

"Gene." Betsy said, warningly.

"What, woman?" Williams said, then sighed at the looks she was giving him, "Where're you headed, boy?"

"...Detention." John muttered.

"Damn it, boy. At least it's school. Hurry the-just hurry up."

* * *

><p>Brian was in the library. Not the school library, his mother would have killed him. Again. No, he was in the public library with his friends Teag, Larry, and eventually Deb, when she was done with whatever she was doing with...<em>Jay. Stupid Jay,<em> Brian thought, irritably. The guy was an asshole. Well, no that's not really true, but it would have been easier if he was, it would have made Brian happier. Jay was actually very nice and cool, even. He played the guitar, really well, in fact and didn't hang out with just one crowd. Maybe that's why Deb liked him, nothing seemed to really bother Jay. Still, if he was an asshole, maybe this whole thing would have been better. For Brian, anyway.

"Oh, shit." Teag said as his rucksack fell to the ground and its contents fell out.

"Hey, what's this?" Larry asked, helping to replace the things back into Teag's bag. Larry picked up a formal-looking piece of paper and stared at it, "You got...rejected?"

"Yes." Teag said shortly, ripping the paper back and stuffing it into his bag, "Yes, I got rejected. Do you have a problem with that?"

"No." Larry said, staring at him, "Just surprised. I never thought _you'd_ get rejected at anything."

"Why not? It's probable." Teag said, huffily, "Pay attention the next time we play dodge ball. Or talk to a girl."

"Oh, come on, Teag." Larry said, "I didn't mean it that way. What happened?"

"I got rejected!" Teag hissed, "That's all! There's nothing more to say about it."

"What school?" Brian asked him.

"Brown. Ow!" Larry said, rubbing his shoulder; Teag had hit him.

"I thought you didn't want to go to Brown." Brian said, frowning at his friend.

Teag shrugged.

"It's not the only school you applied to, is it?"

Teag said nothing.

"Hey guys!" The three of them turned and saw Deb waving merrily at them, and holding hands with..._Jay. _His stupid guitar was behind his stupid back and waiving with his stupid hand and smiling, showing his perfectly white, stupid teeth.

Brian's mood darkened. He watched as Deb walked over to the seat but..._Jay_ sat first and made her sit in his lap which she happily obliged. She giggled and gave him a quick kiss on the lips. Brian looked away, he couldn't watch this.

"How is everyone?" Jay asked in his low voice.

"We're okay." Larry said happily. He for one didn't seem to have a problem with..._Jay_ at all, "just looking over old papers for the final science project."

"What have you decided on?" Jay asked interestedly, leaning forward.

"Well," Teag started, pushing up his glasses on his nose. He seemed to out of his stupor, at least for now, "we were given a full range of topics. Anything from simple engineering to sociology work. I think we're leaning toward physics and mechanics."

"To be specific," Larry concluded, "the mechanical workings of the skeletal system. We're going to try and make a life-sized model of the skeleton using different tools to show all the different joints in the body."

"Cool." Jay said, smiling and leaning back, placing an arm around Deb's waist. "If you need anything, just ask. My pop has a lot of tools and things in his shop. I'll get you anything you need."

"Thanks, a lot, Jay." Larry said, with a smile.

"No problem." Jay said smiling then he looked at Deb, "I need to go, love. Needed back at the store."

"Okay." Deb said standing and giving him a hug and kiss, "See you later this evening?"

"Yes." Jay said giving her a final kiss, waving at the others and walking out.

Deb fell back in her seat and let out a sigh of happiness. "So, guess what, I got accepted into Dartmouth and Yale."

"Wow!"

"Good job!"

Deb laughed, "Thanks. Anyone want it?"

"You don't want to go college?" Brian asked her, confused.

Deb shook her head, "Nope, it's going to keep me from whatever it is I want to do."

"Which is?" Teag asked her.

"Travel." Deb said, flattening her shirt.

"Did you parents flip?"

"Yeah." Deb said, smiling and looking off in the distance, "But I told them I never wanted to go to college in the first place. I'm volunteering for the peace corps and afterwards I want to be part of an NGO that works in Africa."

"What about Jay?" Larry asked. Brian looked at her carefully.

"I don't know." Deb said, truthfully, "I'm hoping he might be interested in coming with me, but if not, I can't do anything about that. He worries about his parents, they're old, you know? I can't get tied down, no matter how much I love him."

"Wish I had your courage." Teag said, leaning back in his own chair and staring darkly at the corner of his arm rest, "The way my parents are like, if I do anything besides their plan, they would fall into a state of shock and threaten to kill themselves; my mother with a knife through her heart and my father sticking his head in an oven."

"Parents have always been good at guilt." Larry said, helpfully.

"I'm Jewish." Teag said, shaking his head, "My people _invented_ guilt."

"Jeez, Teag." Deb said, looking at him, "Just do what you want. Your parents are unstable, but I doubt they'd kill themselves. No matter how many times they say they will."

Teag merely shrugged his shoulders.

"I, for one, don't really have any aspirations." Larry said almost sadly, "I'm not interested in anything."

"Anything?" Deb asked him, "You're good at a lot of things, Larry, maybe look at things differently."

Larry looked at her, "I don't even know why I want to go to college. I've always managed to see myself in a big office overlooking a city, like New York, or Miami, or...Moscow."

"Moscow?" Brian asked him.

"It's lovely." Larry said, then paused looking thoughtful, "Maybe, I should turn to socialism..."

"What about you, Brian?"

"Me?" Brian said, looking at her and the others turned their head to watch him. Brian shrugged, "I just don't want to live with my parents anymore. I've applied to colleges in other states, even Canada and Europe."

"Whoa, really?" Deb asked him, sounding surprised.

Brian nodded, noticing the faces of the others, "Yeah. I don't want to be in that house anymore, so I decided not to. By this time next year, I'll be on my own. I'll be getting scholarships in May and making my way to wherever I'm allowed."

"It would be so cool if you went to Europe." Larry said, "So much history and old architecture. And European girls..."

Brian laughed at this. Maybe that would be a plus; he didn't have a reputation in Europe.

"You'll invite us, too, right?" Teag said, now sitting up and looking at Brian, "I wouldn't mind seeing Europe either."

"Of course." Bran said, laughing. He looked at Deb who was still watching him, "What?"

"Just surprised, Brian." Deb said, as if looking at him in a new light, "I didn't think you could ever make a decision like that. I'm really happy for you."

"Thanks." Brian said, feeling himself blushing. He cleared his throat and changed the subject, "So, we decided on a project, then? We should start."

* * *

><p><em>So! That's the end of that chapter. Christ.<em>  
><em>I hope you liked it. Not as dark as the other chapters, but that's okay, right? These kids have to find some happiness, sometimes.<em>

_Lovely reviews, thanks, everyone!  
>I would like more... :D<em>


	9. Chapter 9

_My writer's block has ceased. __For now. 0_o_

_One thing I'd like to avoid, is for you, the reader, to not be enticed enough and end up skimming these chapters..._

* * *

><p>"Open your eyes."<p>

Allison did and watched as Claire stepped back a few steps and placed her hands on her hips, her face looking absolutely smug, her teeth biting down on her lower lip.

Allison became immediately self-conscious and demanded, "What?"

"You look like a total babe." Claire said, excitedly, her smile widening, "Andy is going to wig out! I should totally do this for a living."

Allison made a face, unsure of how she was supposed to feel. She liked the idea of Andy becoming excited just by seeing her, but she was also becoming anxious and bothered. It felt has if two tons of crap was spread all over her face and her eyes were itching. She slowly reached for her face when Claire practically screamed at her, startling Allison.

"No!" Claire said, running forward and grabbing Allison's hand, "Don't touch your face."

Allison took her hand away but didn't rub, "It itches."

"Ugh, Allison." Claire said, dropping what Allison first thought as a coloured pencil onto the table where at least fifty dollars of make-up product was sitting, "You need to see yourself and you'll realise how amazing you look."

Allison didn't say anything, her mind focused on her eyes and thinking how great and relieving it would be if she could just rub her eyeballs.

"Do you have a full-length mirror?" Claire asked her, looking around the living room.

Allison merely stared at her.

"Fine. Not you." Claire said, rolling her eyes and shrugged, "How about your mum?"

Allison thought and nodded her head.

"Great!" Claire said, taking Allison's hand and forcing her to stand, "Come on, let's go to it."

"To what?"

"The mirror, Allison." Claire said, impatiently.

"I thought I looked okay." Allison said, being pulled and pushed toward her parent's bedroom up the stairs, "Why do I need to see myself?"

"You'll feel better when you do." Claire insisted.

Allison sighed internally, her annoyance rising. Why did she ask Claire to do this? Because she didn't have anyone else. If she was being more honest with herself, it was because she wanted to impress Andy, and if anyone Allison knew could do it, Claire would. Allison had to admit how surprised she was when Claire agreed to helping her so quickly. Allison had her doubts, she always had doubts.

"Is there a switch?" Claire asked as the two of them entered a dark room. A light overhead switched overhead and Allison watched as Claire smiled at her, "Where's the mirror?"

Allison lifted a finger and pointed behind the door.

Claire followed Allison's finger and looked behind the door. She closed it quickly and pushed Allison in front of the mirror, "Well?"

Allison stared at herself then turned her head to eye Claire, "I look like a clown."

"No, you don't!" Claire said, clearly affronted. She sighed, "You look different, that's all. When's the last time you wore make-up?"

"Detention." Allison said looking at her.

Claire didn't say anything and made a face, then, "Allison, just look at yourself again. I mean, really look at yourself. You're gorgeous. Think of what Andy is going to see."

Allison sighed softly again and looked back at herself, frowning. She certainly was wearing more than what Claire had provided for her in detention, but something was off. She swallowed and stared at herself, almost as if it was the first time. For once, she was wasn't wearing something black or grey, it was yellow. A bright, give-me-attention-world, yellow. Claire had picked out a black belt to go around it and a pair of black shoes with small heels. She also wore a white jacket that didn't really keep her very warm. Claire had done something to Allison's hair so it sort of folded to one side. Allison's face seemed cleaner, brighter, her lips a deep red and her eyes looked bigger, her eyelashes longer. Allison looked like a completely different person. She thought of Andy and tried to reach for her hood when she realised her large black jacket wasn't on.

Allison's heart started beating rapidly again, would he recognise her?

_Yes, you idiot,_ Allison said to herself.

"Stop panicking." Claire said, frowning at her and correctly understanding what was going through Allison's mind, "Andy already likes you. You're just showing him a different side, that's all."

Allison wasn't sure if she liked this side and was about to say something when she spotted the digital clock in the mirror and gasped. She turned her head to see if it was correct, "Is that the right time?!"

Claire looked over her shoulder then at her watch, "Yeah."

"Andy will be here in, like, two minutes!" Allison said, grasping the door handle and flinging the door open. _This shit took an hour and a half?!_

"Allison, wait!" Claire said behind her, but she was laughing, "Calm down, or you'll sweat and then you'll _really_ like a clown."

Allison stopped in her tracks in the middle of the stairs and slowly turned to look at Claire who was calmly making her way down the steps. _What,_ she thought, her heart beating in her chest._  
><em>

"Take deep breaths, Allison." Claire said, rolling a hand and making Allison breath with her, "Good, just make your way down, slowly. I'll pack up and we can wait for Andy. He'll ring the bell."

Allison closed her eyes forced herself to relax and took one step at a time, Claire behind her. Allison made her way to the front door. She could feel her hands in fists and had forced them by her sides to try and keep calm. She could hear Claire humming to herself as she started packing away the makeup in a small bag. Allison began to pace in front of the door, wondering what the time was, what if Andy didn't come, what if he thought Allison was ugly, what if he changed his mind, what if-

"Allison!"

Allison jumped and stopped moving, finding Claire looking amused. She watched as Claire placed two hands on her shoulder, making Allison tense more, but Claire didn't remove her hands.

"Andy is one of the good ones." Claire said, looking at her, far more serious than Allison had ever seen her, "He'd never do anything to hurt you on purpose."

Allison mumbled something and Claire furrowed her eyebrows, "What?"

"How do you know?" Allison repeated slightly more loudly, her voice shaking and her fears suddenly washing over her.

Claire gave her a small smile, "He really likes you. I've never seen him like this before."

Allison didn't say anything but felt herself slowly relax. She liked that.

"Okay?" Claire said, a smile coming to her lips.

Allison, unable to say anything, nodded.

"This is your first date, huh?" Claire asked, taking a seat by the table and staring at Allison. She wasn't being patronising, but seemed really curious.

"How'd you guess?" Allison said, with a sigh, but not moving from her position.

"Lucky." Claire responded, giving Allison a small smile, but it looked sad, "It's nice you two are working out so well."

_Ah, Bender_, Allison thought. Of course. Allison stared at Claire. This girl was incredibly popular because of the clothing she wore, the make-up she had, the jewellery she owned, and the amount of money her parents make. She could stand out in a crowd and exude a confidence not many her age are capable of, hell, not many adults, even. That same girl was sitting in Allison's parents's quaint living room, in a chair and looking as lonely and downtrodden as Allison often felt.

Allison let out a sigh and made her way to Claire, "I doubt he remembers, but I used to share classes with John Bender."

Claire looked up at Allison in surprise, "What?"

"Yeah." Allison said, nodding her head and thinking back, "It was in Elementary school, you know, when girls and boys didn't even matter. Can't remember the grade, but I think it was just for one school year. I don't think he had many friends in that class either, but he smiled more. He was a cute kid."

Claire smiled at Allison, "Really?"

"Yeah." Allison said looking at her, "Next time you come over, I'll give you a picture of him. I still have the old yearbooks. I liked Elementary school."

"Okay." Claire agreed.

There was sounds outside from a car and Allison felt herself tense wondering what she should do, rooted to the spot. She saw Claire looking considerably happier and squeezing past a small table by the window to peer through the window. Allison wanted to tell Claire to stop but couldn't say a word. Claire was grinning and looked wide-eyed at Allison.

"It's Andy, he's coming out of his car." Claire said, looking back, she paused, then chuckled, "He looks nervous.

_Nervous_, Allison thought, the butterflies in her stomach, quieting. She opened her mouth and stammered as her mouth felt like sandpaper, "H-how do you..know?"

"Or he's crazy." Claire paused, frowning.

"What?" Allison hissed, confused, feeling the butterflies awaken.

"Oh, no, he's nervous." Allison sighed losing patience but now feeling anxious and terrified. Claire continued, "He's warming up as if he was about to enter a big meet. Oh! He's coming up!"

Claire quickly retreated from the window and stood beside Allison, who swallowed and then jumped as the doorbell rang.

Claire glanced at Allison, but she was shaking her head vigrously. Claire gave her a supportive smile then reached for the handle of Allison's front door. She turned it and pulled the door opened, "Hey, Andy."

"Claire?" Alison heard Andy asked sounding clearly surprised, "Hey, is uhm, Allison...here?"

"Yeah, she's right here." Claire said, opening the door wider so Allison was visible. She felt her hand being tugged and and was forced to stand beside Claire, "See?"

"...Woah..."

Allison's eyes were closed, but when she heard Andy she opened them up and saw him staring at her in this expression she had never seen on him before, his eyes wide and his mouth slightly opened. Immediately, her thoughts went to a deer in the headlights before they get hit by a truck. Allison felt her nerves flare but it was a different sort of nervous. She liked the look Andy was giving her, it was almost like detention all over again, but better. Allison also knew she was blushing furiously, her cheeks were burning.

It was then when Allison realised she should never have doubted Claire. She was doubtful at the mall when Claire started finding all these odd make-up products and comparing them to Allison's skin and talking about the seasons throughout the year. None of it made any sense to Allison and it just made her annoyed, cranky, and aware of how busy a mall was on a Saturday afternoon. Claire also dragged Allison to clothing stores and made her try on just about twenty different outfits and this made Allison want to strangle her friend, but she decided against it, understanding she actually had a friend; Claire was helping after all. Allison also realised the changes Claire was going through herself. Allison had never seen Claire without some sort of designer clothing or jewellery, but at that moment, Claire didn't have any. There was also no pink in sight. It was weird.

"Andy," Claire said clearing her throat and interrupting Allison's running thoughts, "why don't you take Allison to the car?"

"What...?" Andy started, prying his eyes off of Allison and looking at Claire, "Yeah, yeah, uhm, Allison...let's go."

Allison didn't move. She felt a small nudge and a whisper in her ear, "Take his hand."

Unable to speak, she nodded her head and took Andy's offered hand. Allison walked beside Andy, following him as he moved around the car and opened the door to his car for her. She could see him stealing glances, but he wouldn't look at her fully, and she wasn't sure how to feel, but she certainly didn't feel like she did just a few moments ago.

"Oh, Allison!" Claire said, before Allison got in the car. Allison turned and saw Claire, holding out a small white purse in her hands, "Can't forget this."

Allison gave a small smile of relief, the purse had her keys in it. She slipped into the seat and watched as Andy closed the door beside her, still not looking at her, and he quickly moved around the car and opened his door before stepping in. Allison noticed he wasn't wearing the boot his doctor provided for him.

"Is your ankle okay?" Allison asked him, her shyness retreating for just a moment.

Andy paused, his hand over his keys on the ignition, and he still hadn't looked at her, "Uh, yeah, it's okay."

With that, he turned the keys and the car roared. Allison turned her head to look out the window and saw Claire happily waving at them by her own car. Allison gave her a small smile as the car moved down the driveway and onto the street. It was quiet. Allison felt better with Claire around, but now she was with Andy again, in his car. She was undoubtedly very uncomfortable and had to remind herself that she had nothing to hide from. Her fingers were gripping the handle of her purse, unable to think of anything else to do with them.

Andy cleared her throat, obviously trying to think of something to say, "So, you look really nice, really...uhm, really...nice."

"Thanks, Andy." Allison said, taking in a deep breath before letting it out and said the first thing that came to mind, "I'm really nervous."

She mentally slapped herself.

"No, shit..." Andy suddenly said softly, letting out a soft whistle and sigh of relief, "So am I."

Allison looked at him, surprised, "Really?"

Andy took a quick glance in her direction and nodded, "Yeah."

Allison felt her hands relax and brought one over her face to cover the wide smile she wore.

* * *

><p>Andy couldn't stop looking at Allison. He kept reminding himself to stop and instead focused his attention on a particularly uninteresting piece of wrapper that was once around his straw. He thought back and was suddenly reminded of the few times he did see her running around school. For someone who wasn't very popular, everyone seemed to know her, but he never paid that much attention to her; he was busy with wrestling, or parties, or girls. He did remember, though sharing some of the jokes his friends made, Allison being the butt end of them, or Brian. He felt his stomach squirm, feeling guilty. His fingers were now ripping the wrapper into tiny pieces. He could never think of her that way, ever again. Especially, not tonight.<p>

They were sitting at Andy's favourite pizza joint, Germain's Pizza. It was local and family-owned. Andy had asked whether Allison had been there before, but she said no. It was a Saturday night and it was really crowded inside; Andy knew this made Allison uncomfortable. It was lucky Andy knew the owners through his father; wrestling coach that taught Germaine's sons. Andy and Allison were quickly shuffled to a table somewhat hidden in a corner after waiting for just a few minutes. Maybe he shouldn't have, but Andy was feeling extremely pleased Allison was holding onto his left hand and arm rather tightly, aware of the stares she was getting. Andy was a very popular high schooler, so he was not surprised to see people he knew inside Germaine's and all of them were looking at Andy and Allison, open-mouthed.

"Here you go." said a voice overhead. The pizzas had now finally arrived. Andy and Allison turned their heads to see their overly-smiling waitress holding in her fists two flat plates on a stand, "One Meaty pizza for the gentleman and the Hawaiian for the lady. Is there anything else? How are your drinks? Would you like something else, instead? Do you have enough napkins? Forks? Knives?"

"No, no, thanks." Andy replied after looking at Allison who was shaking her head.

The waitress winked at Andy and bounced away. He took one quick glance at Allison, but she wasn't touching her pizza. He frowned and looked at her, "You okay?"

Allison didn't look at him, and merely nodded her head, her face down. They were sitting across from each other so Andy stood and picked up his chair so that he could sit beside her. She jumped slightly from his presence, but her shoulders relaxed and she watched him from the corner of her eye, then looking away, her hand scratching the back of her neck nervously.

"What is it?" Andy asked her concerned.

Allison shrugged. She had opened and closed her mouth a few times before finally saying so softly, Andy was forced to lean in closer, "Everyone's looking at me."

Andy looked around. She wasn't wrong. There were still a few glances that were sneakily watching them every so often but the initial shock was over. He looked back at Allison, suddenly feeling stupid, "Wanna leave?"

Allison turned her head to look at him for a moment, blinking at him, and furrowing her eyebrows. She sighed softly, than shook her head.

"You sure?" Andy asked her. He didn't like seeing her this way.

Allison inhaled then exhaled before nodding her head determinedly, "Yeah. I'm okay. Just...don't leave me."

Andy saw her blush and smiled at this. He reached across the table for his pizza and slid the plate closer to him. He was feeling hungry. The two of them ate, Allison seemed to become much happier as her stomach filled with pizza. They didn't talk much, just snippets about their food, whether it was good or not, and how annoying the bubbly waitress was; she kept coming back asking if there was anything else they wanted and winking at Andy. He had already finished most of his pizza as a half hour passed. Andy became fascinated as he watched Allison eat her food; he'd never seen a girl eat that way or that fast before. Allison would remove the cheese off two slices of pizza first, finish off the bread and crust, and then eat the cheese left over on the plate. Andy laughed, unable to stop himself.

Allison had reached for a napkin to wipe around her mouth and was mid-dab when she stared at Andy, "What?"

"Nothing, nothing." Andy said, but Allison was staring at him, waiting for him to tell her. Her lipstick was smudged but he didn't care, "The way you eat, it's...it's..."

"What?" Allison started, frowning, "What's wrong with the way I eat?"

"There's nothing wrong with the way you eat." Andy assured her, "It's just different. Cute. I like it."

Allison stopped, looking at him in surprise, than started to smile her coy smile, making Andy's heart beat. He really, really wanted to kiss her then.

"Can, can I...?" Andy trailed, thinking of something better to do with his hands. He took the napkin away from Allison's hands and dabbed it in her glass of water. He reached over to Allison's lips and saw her stiff but Andy gently placed the napkin on the corner of her mouth and cleaned off the lipstick, "S-sorry, your make-up, was..."

Allison was watching him, almost scrutinising him, clearly thinking about something, but he couldn't possibly know what was going on in her head.

She smiled at him and then shyly whispered, "I don't like wearing all this make-up."

Andy looked at her surprise, "So, why do you have it on?"

Allison giggled softly not really looking at him, "Claire did it."

Andy smiled back, "Why don't you take it off?"

Allison looked as if she was about to reply when they were interrupted by a presence. _That fucking waitress,_ Andy thought as he turned his head annoyed, but no, it wasn't her.

"Hey, Andy."

Andy recognised his wrestling team-mate, Dan. Dan had pulled up a chair from another table and placed it across the table from Andy. Andy sighed inwardly, "Hey, Dan. What's up, man?"

Dan gave a nod in his direction then turned his head to look at Allison, giving her a nod which she did not acknowledge, merely stared at him, "Who's the chick?"

Andy squared his jaw, not liking how Dan said that. He felt his temper flare, "Her _name_ is Allison."

"She's hot." Dan said giving Allison a stupid smile that he seemed to think worked on the ladies, then he gave Andy a wink. Dan didn't seem to notice the look Andy was giving him and continued on, "You know, a bunch of us are sitting just over there. Why don't you join us? Bring the girl."

"No, thanks." Andy said through gritted teeth. He was trying to keep his fury inward, but it was proving difficult.

"Oh, I see." Dan said, leaning back in his chair and licking his lips as he stared at Allison.

"Hey." Andy said, snapping his fingers in Dan's face. Dan turned his head to look at Andy and gave him a wicked smile. Andy narrowed his eyes, "Get the fuck out of here."

Dan was surprised at first but then it slowly became anger as his eyes narrowed and his eyebrows furrowed, "The hell did you just say?"

"I said," Andy replied, now standing, his hands in fists. Dan followed and the two of them were practically nose-to-nose. Andy was short, but he could look intimidating if he wanted to. He also knew Dan as a prick and a coward, "'Get. The fuck. Out of here."

"What's your problem, Andy?" Dan replied, being unnecessarily loud.

Andy felt something on his arm and he looked down. Allison had placed a long-fingered hand on him and stared up at him. She was pleading to him and he felt himself calm almost immediately, but not quite all the way. Just enough to keep himself from saying anything he might regret. He looked back at Dan.

"Just, leave us alone. Okay?" Andy said, staring at Dan, refusing to blink. He would never be the first to back down.

They stood there for a few moments, a strange silence behind them. Finally, someone called to Dan. Andy watched as Dan seemed to relax slightly and lifted his hands to show he wasn't going to fight. However, he didn't leave without butting his shoulder into Andy's as he walked past. Andy stood for a moment before settling himself down beside Allison, his breathing rigid.

"Let's go, Andy." Allison finally said, her whole body now facing him, her shyness seemed to be completely gone.

Andy nodded his head, not ready to speak and waived for the waitress to give him the check.

Half an hour later, the two of them were in Andy's car. He was feeling a lot calmer as he made his way north, toward the Wisconsin border. If Allison was curious about where they were headed, she didn't say anything. Andy was grateful and he continued driving his vehicle up a hill past the border and then came to another hill until they stopped at a bluff, somewhat hidden from the road. It was a favourite spot of his, especially at night when all the lights of his city and Burlington's in the distance were visible. He doubted many people knew about this spot, it wasn't part of the main road up; this back road itself was rocky and somewhat hazardous, but Andy wasn't frightened since he knew it so well. After he put his car into park, he turned off his car and let his keys swing in the ignition.

"Andy?" Allison asked after a moment.

"Come on, I wanna show you something." Andy replied, and pushed his car door open. He stepped out, feeling the cool breeze on his face. He zipped up his jacket and placed his hands in the jacket's pockets. He turned and saw Allison step out, then suddenly dropped back into the car, her arms wrapped around herself. Andy made his way over and looked into the car, staring at Allison, feeling concerned.

"It's cold." she stated, looking at him.

Andy pulled off his jacket and wrapped it around her shoulders. He then opened his backdoor and pulled out a hoodie he saves in the back just for the occasion. He placed the jumper over his head, and pulled it down. He looked over at Allison who had placed her arms in his jacket's sleeve and was currently trying to zip it up. Andy reached over to help her, then placed an arm around her and led her toward the edge of the bluff. Now, that he was there, he didn't really have much to say. He figured the view would say it for him.

They stood there for a minute when Allison finally said, "I wish I could fly."

Andy looked at her for a moment, then said, softly, "Me too."

"Where would you go?" Allison asked him, turning around and taking a seat on the hood of his car, bringing her feet to his bumper.

Andy followed suit and sat beside her, looking out toward the lights and leaning against his knees. He thought for a minute, then shrugged his shoulders, "Away from here. Where'd you go?"

Allison looked thoughtful for a minute, "On a deserted island somewhere. Or high in the mountaintops. Somewhere no one could find me easily."

Andy nodded, understanding this.

It was quiet again, then Allison asked, "Why did you tell your dad you hated him?"

"Because I do." Andy said instantly, his fist against his knee, but he suddenly wished he could take it back, "He just makes me...so...angry. I-I made my mom cry, too. I shouldn't have..." Andy trailed off.

Allison didn't say anything, her arms crossed on her laps as she stared up into the sky. It was a clear night and there were so many stars above them. Andy wondered if Brian would know know what they were looking at. He heard Allison let out a small sigh and Andy gave Allison a side-long glance wondering if he should say anything to her. He didn't talk about it to anyone, it was secret his family had and it was eating them all up inside. It was when things really changed and not for the better. He let out a sigh, his thoughts distorted.

Allison didn't persist as she turned her attention to the city below them. Silence, then she looked at him, "Wanna know a secret?"

Andy stared at her curiously and sat up, his thoughts paused for the moment, "Sure."

Allison let out a sigh and closed her eyes as if prepping herself to perform life-threatening surgery. She opened her mouth and whispered, "I used to be a ballet dancer."

Andy raised his eyebrows, not expecting this statement of fact at all and wondered if she was lying. All he could think to say was, "What?"

"For as long as I could remember." Allison wasn't looking at him, and hugged her arms closer and bit her lip, "I loved it and I was really good. My teacher was really proud of me, my mother showed me off, and the other girls were so jealous. I loved it."

"Why'd you stop?" Andy asked her, watching her carefully.

"I don't know." Allison said, looking at her feet, "I stopped before high school and that was the time my parents started ignoring me. I was a project and when I lost interest in dancing, they lost interest in me. I regret that."

"You regret you stopped dancing, or your parents?"

"Dancing." Allison finally said, now sitting up and looking at Andy straight in the eye, tears on her face, "I want to dance again. It's almost like flying."

Andy reached over and wiped her tears away then grinned, "Your make-up is smearing."

Allison laughed out loud, her cheeks wet, "I hate it."

"Take it off." Andy said, watching as she rubbed her face with her hands, and he laughed as she smeared more on her face, "Let me help. I think I liked you before the make-up."

The two of them sat for a few minutes trying to get rid of Claire's handiwork making Andy finally have the courage to say something he's been thinking about for awhile, "I have to say something, too."

"What is it?" Allison asked, eagerly, wiping at her face with the sleeve of Andy's jacket.

Andy could feel himself blushing, "The first time..I-I started to...like...you..."

Allison stopped what she was doing and looked at him, her arm midway between her lap and her cheek. Andy looked away, knowing that she was watching him, and he could feel his cheeks burning. He couldn't believe the words that were coming out of his mouth.

"When was that?" Allison asked him, softly.

"This-this is hard..."Andy said, looking away from her. He jumped off the hood of his car and rubbed his face vigorously and said swiftly, "It was during lunch."

"Lunch?" Allison asked from her spot on the hood of Andy's car, sounding confused.

"Yeah, in detention." Andy said, turning around to face her, but couldn't look at her in the eye, "You had a sandwich and you threw, what was it, bologna or ham or some shit."

Andy was laughing between words as Allison came to realisation, "All you had...[laugh]...was just two pieces of bread...[chuckle]... and what the hell did you put in there?"

"Hmm," Allison said, thoughtfully, "Pixie sticks and cereal."

Andy laughed again, thinking about it in his head and remembering, "You did the same thing today, tonight. With your pizza. I-I liked it."

Allison smiled at him and Andy walked over to her, were she sat, mustering the amount of courage he had left to stand in in front of her. Why did she make him feel this way? He never had this problem with his other girlfriends. It was easy with them, they were easily satisfied with what he had, as long as he was willing to make out or have sex, and if they were drunk, the easier it was, he was shamed to admit. Of course, he was always willing, but with Allison, it was clear that wasn't what she wanted. Maybe she was something he never had, a sort of freedom that he didn't understand and that made her enticing.

Andy watched as Allison stared at him so intensely. That look sometimes chilled him to the bone, it was a studious stare, an almost cynical stare, as if she could see right through him. She finally wore a small smile and placed her arms around his shoulders, pulling him in closer. It surprised but pleased Andy and he gently placed his hands around her waist. Without a word, Allison leaned down and pressed her soft lips against Andy's eager ones.

* * *

><p>Claire was lying on her bed in her new bedroom, surrounded by her new sheets and her new pillows. Her eyes followed her room. The walls were still pink but she managed to cover them up with compositions of her favourite classical composers like Bach and Liszt but also posters of rock artists she would never admit she liked at school, like Blue Öyster Cult, Karla Devito and Meat Loaf; an odd compilation, perhaps. Claire didn't buy any make-up on her trip to the mall with Allison, nor did she purchase any jewellery. She did purchase new clothing, but not one stitch had pink on it. Claire smiled to herself feeling happier than she had been.<p>

Change was good.

Claire stared at her watch; it was nearly three in the morning. She let out a great yawn, suddenly feeling tired. She sat up and stretched, wondering vaguely where her parents were and hoped Allison's date went well. Her head then turned toward the window that looked down toward the pool house. She bit the side of her cheek, trying to convince herself not to move and look. Claire failed and stood, making her way to the window. She peered down into the dark but saw nothing clearly. She bit down on her lower lip and thought perhaps it was for the best. John made his own decisions, didn't he? She had no influence over him. A depressing thought, but what else could she do? Claire sighed and closed the new blue curtains over her windows, perhaps a little more forcefully then she intended, and turned around to open up her bureau for sleepwear and a new bath towel. It was close to another hour before Claire was finally in bed again and falling into a fitful sleep.

Claire was startled awake but a loud buzzing. She groaned and turned over in her bed, placing the pillow over her face to muffle the sound. Whatever it was only sounded louder in her ears, even if she tried to push her pillow as hard as she could into her head, but it was hard work and her arm was getting tired. Claire sighed irritably, moving her hand and pushing the pillow away from her. She let out a yawn as she turned around in her covers, looking for the sound. Claire, unable to see the source of the sound, rubbed her eyes forcefully as she sat up, annoyed. She groaned again, suddenly recognising the annoyance; it was her phone.

Frowning and her eyes half closed, she reached for the receiver and pulled it to place against her ear and fell back into the bed.

"...mm...'ello?"

"Hey, E-claire." said a deep voice from the other side and then laughter, "What did you do, get drunk last night? It's gotta be...one o'clock over there, right?"

Claire was suddenly very awake and smiled at the voice on the other side, "Emery! Oh, my God! Oh, my God! Hi! Hi! It's so awesome to hear from you!"

More laughter, "It's good to hear from you, too."

"How've you been?" Claire asked, now sitting straight on the edge of her bed, "What have you been up to?"

"Well, it's a bit of bad and good news." Emerson said, ruefully, "What do you want to hear first?"

"Bad." Claire said, firmly.

"Okay, well, uhm, Brooks and I broke up."

"Oh, no." Claire replied sadly, frowning at the floor, "I liked Brooks. What happened?"

"Yeah...really long story...I don't want to get into it now." Emerson replied, sounding somewhat faraway. Then his tone changed, "But there's also good news; I'm moving back!"

"Moving back?" Claire asked him excitedly, and now standing, "Here? To Shermer?"

"Well, no, Chicago." Emerson said, "It's only an hour away. I'm getting a new promotion and a new office, a new apartment. A new life. Everything. I can see you everyday, just like old times."

"That's so great, Emery!" Claire said, smiling so hard now, her cheeks were hurting, "I've really missed you, you know. A lot."

"I've missed you, too, E-claire." Emerson replied softly. He paused and then asked, almost hesitantly, "How's mom and dad?"

"...You didn't call them?" Claire asked, knowing the answer.

"Didn't think that as a good a idea." Emerson replied.

"I guess not. They can't still be mad at you, can they?"

"What do you think?" Emerson asked her, slight bitterness in his voice.

"Well, then you won't have to see them." Claire said, her arms moving across her chest, "I wish I didn't have to."

"Yeah...how are they, anyway?"

Claire sighed and sat back on her bed, fingering the fabric of her duvet. She shrugged her shoulders, "Oh, you know, the same. It's...embarrassing. Especially when company is over." Claire closed her eyes briefly as she remembered her parents when John was there.

"Don't worry, you'll be graduating soon enough, okay?" Emerson said encouragingly.

"Yeah." Claire agreed, but didn't feel like graduation could come soon enough, "So, when will you be here?"

"Oh, well, let's see..." Emerson said on the end. There was shuffling and it sounded as if Emerson had changed ears for his phone and was rifling through papers, "Today is the 15th, so I'll be there in two weeks, around the 29th."

"Okay." Claire said, nodding, then she smiled, an idea cropping in her head, "Can I throw you a welcome home party? A small one."

"Ehhh..." Emerson started, then, "...Sure, okay. It better be good."

Claire giggled, "It will."

A few moments later, they hung up the phone, Claire feeling like she could take on the world. Her absolute favourite person was coming home and she couldn't wait to see him. She had to make plans for Emerson's arrival. Claire was going to meet him at the airport, pick him up, and take him to his new apartment so that they could start moving his things inside. Then, she was going to sleep there and set up for his party at the apartment while he went went to work and meet his new bosses. Claire was incredibly excited and hoped Emerson was, too.

Claire was wide awake now, and plans were running through her head. She reached for the boom-box she had on her bookshelf and turned the volume way up as Aerosmith played loudly, making the entire room and floor vibrate under her feet. She was humming and dancing as she rummaged around her room to get dressed. Claire was in the middle of putting on her jeans when she heard loud banging on her door. She zipped up her trousers and moved to the door before reaching for the handle and pulling it open.

"Hey, mum." Claire said to her mother's annoyed looking face. Her mother was saying something but Claire merely shrugged and pointed at her ear, "I can't hear you."

Her mother stared at her daughter then moved past Claire toward the bookshelf. Claire amusingly watched as her mother tried to find the off button on her daughter's cassette player. Unable to find one, Claire's mother reached for the electric cord and and pulled the plug viciously from the wall.

"There!" Her mother said with a satisfied sigh. She then looked around Claire's room, her eyes and mouth wide before she looked at Claire, "What-what happened to your room?"

Claire shrugged and crossed her arms, "I fixed it."

"What was wrong with it?" Her mother asked her, her voice higher than usual.

"I didn't like it." Claire told her.

"You didn't-" Her mother started then raised her hands and closed her eyes, "Look, okay, it doesn't matter. Just turn the music down, alright? You're giving me a headache."

"I think you did that to yourself." Claire said, unable to stop herself. She opened her mouth slightly at her words and looked at her mum.

Her mother looked at her as well, "Excuse me?"

Claire closed her mouth and said nothing, not entirely sure what had gotten into her.

"What's with the attitude, young lady?" Her mother said, looking at Claire beadily and pointing at her, "There's something going on with you; your...clothes, your room, that strange boy you brought home the other night..."

Claire kept her mouth shut.

"I know what this is about. I know exactly what this is about..." Claire's mother said, her face coming to some strange realisation, "This is your father's doing, isn't? He set this up, to get back at me, didn't he?"

"What?" Claire said, bewildered, "Dad didn't-"

"No, sweetie, no, I don't blame you, only your father." Claire's mother said, putting her hands on her daughter's face before turning away and walking out the bedroom door, "It's the public school. I knew, I _knew_ private was the best, but what did your _goddamned_ _father say_? _Oogh_! I could just...!"

"Mum!" Claire called out, but her mother was already gone. Claire followed her out the room yelling for her, "Mu-!"

Claire's mother had already slammed the door to her bedroom. She stared at the door for a bit longer before retreating back in her room, confused. Claire sighed, knowing that as soon as her father was going to come home from wherever he was, there was going to be another fight about something Claire didn't even remember doing. Claire didn't even know if her father was home at all. He spent most of time out of the house; Claire wished she could do that. She was certainly making changes in her life, but it wasn't her father's fault, was it? It was her choice, right? _Of course it was_, Claire told herself.

Claire was sitting on the edge of the bed, not really understanding what just happened. She looked up and saw books stacked on her desk. She still hadn't done her homework and she had a test, tomorrow. Claire hadn't really studied for it; she just couldn't be bothered. Her eyes looked around her room again, wondering if all this sudden change was good for her. She was happy about it before she went to bed last night, why wasn't she happy, now? Claire found her bookshelf and saw books she hadn't touched in years. She walked over to them and pulled out a yellow manuscript from the top shelf. It was an old violin piece she had played, more than five years ago. She hadn't looked at it in ages. Claire wondered whether she could still play it.

Claire placed the piece on her bed and walked out her room, down the stairs, and toward the back of the house. She practically ran out from the sliding glass doors, past the pool, and toward the pool house. She reached for the handle and flung it open, but suddenly stopped herself when she realised Bender might be in there. To her slight disappointment, he was not, but Claire shook such thoughts from her head and found the item she wanted, sitting just where she had placed it last night. She picked up the instrument case from its handle and turned around, remembering exactly where her stand was. Claire reached behind the small desk inside the room and pulled out a dust-covered casing that held her metal music stand inside.

Feeling excited, Claire moved quickly out the house, kicking the door closed. She moved swiftly past the pool and into her house, not bothering to close the door. She ran up the stairs and when she was safely inside her room, she dropped her violin case and her music stand on her bed before closing her bedroom door. Claire paused for a moment as she leaned against her door, staring at her instrument. She felt hesitant, scared, strange. Claire slowly walked over to stand beside her bed and slowly bent down to open up the case.

Claire stared at her violin, licking her lips. It was beautiful, she had to admit as she placed a finger lightly on the wood and stroked it, smiling to herself. A deep brown colour with a hint of red peeking through. It was an old instrument, her parents had bought it off an auctioneer; it was made in Germany in the 1600's. Probably cost a fortune. Claire loved the violin, it was peaceful or frenzied, depending on how she was feeling. Claire frowned as she tried to recall why she stopped in the first place.

The violin was like Claire's best friend, she carried it and played it everywhere. When Claire was young and she didn't have her violin by her side, she was quiet and shy, straying away from people. With her violin, she always had a confidence, especially when she was preforming. She was good and she knew it, but she liked playing it for others, too. She enjoyed making people clap or dance along to Irish gigs, Claire was glad she had the ability to move people to tears when she played an especially sad funeral march. So, why did she stop? Because a group of girls called her names.

Claire frowned, she couldn't remember exactly what she was called. Whatever it was, it hurt her feelings enough for her to stop carrying her instrument around and playing it for others. She had even called her violin stupid and a waste of time before throwing it into the pool house, promising never to play it again, but she never got rid of it. She never could. After that, she eventually found her confidence through clothing and what the latest gossip was. The group of girls that made fun of her in the first place were the same group of girls she considered her friends for the past four years.

_That's fucked up_, Claire thought.

Claire grasped the neck of her violin and thumbed the four strings, softly. It was way out of tune, but she could fix that. Claire went to work tuning her instrument, careful not to over stretch the old strings. When they were in tune, she took hold of her shoulder rest and placed it under her violin. She reached into her case for her bow and tightened the horsehair. Claire closed her eyes and slowly placed the bow on her strings and played a single open string, very, very softly. The bow slipped off. Claire frowned and placed her violin on back on her bed to reach the rosin for her bow. Slowly, she rubbed it against the hair. When she was satisfied, she reached for her violin again and placed it on the shelf of her shoulder, her bow on the strings.

Why was she so scared?

She didn't want anyone to hear her.

Why not?

Claire had no idea.

Claire exhaled then played the single note, louder this time. Then again, and again, and again, louder each time. It was exhilarating. Licking her lips, Claire placed the tips of her left fingers on the strings and slowly, carefully, played a scale. She was rusty, really rusty, but all she needed to do was practice. She played the scale a few more times, then again, faster and louder, and with much more confidence, each time. Then Claire went into a fiddle piece she had always remembered and played it, then she played it again. It was beautiful and she could feel her heart beating from her increasing excitement.

* * *

><p>John looked out the window of the passenger window of Detective Gene Williams car and made a face. "Shit."<p>

"What?" Williams asked him as he stopped his car in front of the school and looked out the window as well.

"It's a Dick." John said with a frustrated sigh. Vernon was the last person he wanted to see first thing in the morning.

"That's nice." Williams said sarcastically, "I see that speech I gave you this morning really sunk in."

"No," John said opening his door and stepping out. He looked at Williams before closing the door with a slam, "That's his name."

Williams raised an eyebrow and nodded his head toward the school. John gave him a wave before letting out a deliberately loud sigh of frustration and turning toward the school. He saw Vernon standing in front of the entrance, his arms crossed as he looked at Bender with clear distaste in his eyes and acid on his lips.

"How fitting." Vernon said, first, looking at John. John walked over to him, imitating the stance Vernon was holding, "Not surprised to see you turning up in a police car. Someone finally had the sense to put you in jail?"

"No," Bender replied swiftly, glaring at him, a nasty smile playing on his lips as his temper got the better of him, "this piece of shit you call a school is jail, _Dick._ That back there was heaven."

Vernon said nothing, just gnashed his teeth and grabbed John by the scruff of his collar, and shoved him roughly toward the school, "Get the fuck in there, ass-wipe, before I mop the floor with you."

John bit his tongue roughly as he made his way toward the library, back to his original seat. There wasn't anyone else inside the library except for Carl wearing his headphones and dancing while he vacuumed the floor. Carl gave Bender a wave and John gave him a slight nod. Vernon was right behind him and John felt himself being pushed forcefully into his seat. John glared at Vernon's back as he adjusted his clothes around his shoulders.

"You know, I don't know what to do with you, Bender." Vernon said, suddenly turning around on his heels and looking at Bender, a weird smile on his face, "You think you've got it all figured out and the only thing you're really good at is to fuck-up. Why are you even in school, huh? Why aren't you out there, messing up your life and getting yourself killed? The less of you there is, the better this world will be."

John could feel jaw working and he knew there was fire in his eyes. His fists were tight against his thighs that he kept under the table. There were so many things running around in his head that he wanted to say back to the fucking asshole, but he was also biting down his tongue really fucking hard. He could taste blood but he didn't stop. He was forcing his eyes closed, trying not to listen to Vernon, but his ears were burning.

"What, no idiot come back?" Vernon asked, sounding slightly surprised. John didn't reply, and Vernon leaned in close, so close, John could feel Dick's breath on his ear, "I know you want to hit me, Bender, because that's all you know. You'll never succeed, got that? Nothing you do will _ever _work out. _Ever_."

Vernon was waiting but when he didn't get anything back, he straightened up and walked away, whistling. When Bender could no longer hear his footsteps, he let out a breath he didn't even know he was holding. He was breathing hard and felt a pressure in his eyes and a pain on his temples. God, he never felt so fucking angry before. He swallowed and lifted his hands, they were white until blood slowly started flowing into them again. He was shaking from the adrenaline that was working through his system, his breathing shallow. Only one thing was on his mind, Mark.

"John."

Bender slowly turned his head to the sound and saw Carl making his way over to him, his vacuum in tow. As he got closer, Bender could hear Carl's music blasting from the headphones. When Carl was close, he took a quick glance from the main library doors and then looked back at Bender.

"You okay?"

Bender's heart was slowing down and he could feel his breath going back to normal. He nodded his head, then before he could stop himself, he shook it.

Carl didn't say anything, then, "I've gotta say, though, I'm real proud of you. You should be too."

"I was this close to killing him, Carl." John said, looking at the janitor. He rubbed his eyes and spoke into his hands, "This fucking close."

"Mark stopped you, huh?"

Bender sighed, then nodded his head, "Yeah."

"Hey," Carl said, taking another quick glance across the room, "Keep your nose clean, I'll keep Vernon busy from time to time. Don't let him get to you, man."

Bender watched as Carl gave him a wink, then placed the headphones over his ears and started dancing with the vacuum as he left the room. Bender rubbed his face as he leaned back in his chair; how the hell was he going to deal with Dick for eight fucking hours? John knew he had a temper, a bad one, and he had no idea how to deal with it. Williams certainly scared him that morning. John had to admit, it was probably about time he did get good and scared. The only thing he had ever cared for was his brother. John didn't want his baby brother growing up the same way he did. Mark was smart, John saw it everyday, he could be something, do something. Mark would never have the chance if he was stuck at that fucking house.

John let out a groan and placed his elbows on the table and leaned his chin against his interlocked fingers, his breathing erratic again. No, no, he had to calm down. This wasn't doing anyone any good. He had to calm down. He closed his eyes and counted to ten slowly, forcing his breathing to follow the numbers in his head. He could do this.

"Bender!"

John startled, looked up and saw Vernon marching over to him, a large stack of papers in his arms and a massive book in his hand. With a smug smile, Vernon passed the desks and stood in front of Bender's desk. Without so much as a warning, Vernon dropped the heavy book on the desk, almost slamming it on Bender's hands had he not moved them in time. Then Vernon dropped the stack of blank lined papers on the desk along with a pencil. John stared at the book, it was green and faded. Gold lettering was written on the cover, in a language Bender knew nothing about. He looked up at Vernon, his stupid smug smile on his face.

"Busy-work, Bender." Vernon stated, pointing at the dictionary, then at the paper, "You are going to write this entire book, Bender, on those pieces of paper. You are going to do this every detention, every Saturday, until your hand falls off, do you understand me? You will write this entire book or so help me, you will _never _leave this school. You will _never_ graduate. Got that?"

John swallowed, his eyebrows furrowing as he stared at the book. The characters weren't even in English. Bender had no idea what it was. He was too surprised to even think of getting angry.

"Get to work!" Vernon barked. He waited there furiously and triumphantly, until Bender slowly picked up the pencil and reached for the dictionary. Vernon watched as Bender slowly opened the thick cover of the old faded book, a creak sounding from the fold. Bender touched the first page, trying to turn the very thin pages. He had no idea where to start, "Everything, Bender."

With that, Vernon turned and walked away from John and the library. Curious, Bender continued turning the pages until he saw a pattern of something he recognised; it was a fucking dictionary. That's all it was. Bender sighed, feeling annoyed and angry.

"Fucking asshole." Bender muttered.

If he did this, Dick was going to win. No, he couldn't allow that fucker to win. Bender slammed his pencil on his desk and crossed his arms. Who the fuck did Vernon think he was? John wasn't going to do this shit. No, Bender was not going to do this bullshit, he couldn't let Dick win. John was shaking his head, his thoughts making their way to Mark. What if...what if he didn't care about Mark? What if John told himself that Mark didn't matter? Could he do that? Could John just change his mind about his brother and just get the hell out of Shermer, away from his parents, away from his baby brother, away from anger and frustration and violence?

"No." John said out loud.

How the hell could he even think that? Mark was his livelihood. He survived for his brother, only his brother, there was nothing keeping him in this horrible hell Bender often found himself, except for his little brother. John needed to behave. He had a goal now, a possibly obtainable one. John took in a deep breath and let it out slowly, then another, and finally another. He slowly picked up his pencils, straightened his papers and got to work.

About two hours had passed when John felt a presence beside him. He looked up and there was Carl again, a small smile on his face and a surprise look in his eyes and he saw the work John was doing.

"Wow."

John smiled at him, shaking his hand from the pain he felt and leaned back in his chair, "Yeah."

"Vernon's making you write in Greek, huh?"

"Greek?" John said, looking at the dictionary, then the papers he filled out in front of him. He stared at Carl, "How'd you know that?"

"I know a lot of things." Carl merely smiled at him, then, "Vernon's asleep in his office. Take a break."

John felt grateful and did as he dropped his pencil on the desk and stretched.

"Shit, Bender," Carl started, taking a chair from another table and placing it in front of Bender. He sat in it and leaned back and crossed his arms across his chest, giving Bender a funny smile, "never thought I'd see the day."

"I'm full of surprises." Bender groaned, cracking his neck and feeling the tension their drop, the he proceeded to crack his knuckles.

"I'll be impressed if you last the entire day." Carl said, placing his hands behind his head. He gave John a nod, "Saw you in Williams's car..."

John stared at the janitor, wondering what else Carl knew, _Christ_, "My birthday is coming up. I'll be 18 in a few weeks."

"Really." Carl said, not sounding surprised.

John nodded, "I want custody of Mark."

Carl raised his eyebrows slightly, "How're you going to do that?"

"Dunno." John said with a shrug, feeling slightly defeated. He shook his head, "I'll figure out a way."

"By yourself?"

John didn't answer right away. He would have preferred it that way, but he could admit when he needed help, at least this time, "No, I know I need help. Just...don't know where to turn."

Carl said nothing for moment, then, "I think you're heading in the right direction. Williams is a good start. He'll help you."

"As much as he can," John admitted and looked down at his hands, "I'm a fuck-up, Carl."

"Not to your brother, you're not." Carl said, leaning forward and John looked up. Carl was more serious than Bender had ever seen him as he stared squarely into his eyes, "Don't forget that."

John nodded and watched as Carl stood, placing the chair back under the table it belonged to, "Get back to work. See you in a few hours."

Bender continued to work and every few hours, Carl would come back for a well-deserved break of snacks and things for John's enjoyment. The day passed amazingly fast and for once Vernon was unable to get under John's skin, maybe because he hardly showed and if he did, John didn't notice. By the time the eight hours were up and Vernon announced Bender could leave, John had filled out nearly twenty pages of the Greek alphabet. He was even impressed with the work he did, but not so much to stick around and learn the fucking language.

That was Saturday. Now, was it was Sunday and Bender was leaving the Williams's home. Mrs. Williams agreed to let John stay for a night (to Det. Williams's utter dismay) to go over what his next steps should be in becoming a parental guardian for Mark. There was a lot of things he needed to do and he was warned he had better get his priorities straight. The last thing John would want is for Mark to get into the foster system.

When Bender was outside, his entire body was sore and he wondered where he could go. His first thought was his parents, but that was a mistake and he knew he shouldn't do that, as much as he wanted to check on Mark. John was scared shitless. Mrs. Williams had promised him that she would do whatever she could to make sure Mark was safe. Bender had to trust her, he had no other choice. He subconsciously reached into his pockets looking for cigarettes, but there were none there and he didn't want to spend his money on any either. He needed to save up. John then thought of Tess. No, he decided, he couldn't bring her into more of this mess than she already was. She had her own kid and a bar of her own. He owed her enough favours. It took a moment for Bender to realise where he was walking. He recognised the area, but only slightly, this was where most of the rich kids and sports hung out, a more ritzy area than what he was used to.

Claire.

_Well, damn_, John thought to himself as he continued walking. She'd probably let him stay over, she already offered him a room all for himself, why shouldn't he take advantage of that? He was fully aware that she was attracted to him and he loved how she squirmed and how nervous she looked when he was around. He smiled to himself as he continued walking, thinking what it would be like to sleep with her, touch her, feel her. He reached for the side of head and felt the earring Claire had given him. He had never taken it off and wondered vaguely if she even noticed. He made a face as he continued walking; she had so much shit, how could she?

Still...

John was never sentimental, he didn't have time to be and didn't have enough things to feel that way, but this earring...

Bender shook his head, moving his hair away from his face. He was aware of it and aware of how it made him feel and he absolutely hated it, but he still never took it off. Maybe because Bender could actually claim it as his or maybe because he actually liked Claire. How could he admit that to himself? He couldn't, not really. He never liked anyone before, and if there was someone in his life to care for...no, that's way to much fucking work. He had only one thing to worry about and that was Mark. Once he had Mark, he'd leave this shit-hole forever. All he needed was Mark.

John found himself at Claire's house and made his way toward the fence. He automatically looked up and saw Claire's light on in her bedroom. Feeling strangely happy, he jumped and managed to grab the edge of the fence and pull himself up. He groaned, feeling a crampy in his hand but ignored it as he swung his legs over and landed heavily but quietly onto the ground below him. He made his way over to the other side of the pool and looked into Claire's bedroom again.

There she was. What was she doing? Claire was moving around a lot, holding something. He waited listening; it sounded like music. John wasn't sure what she was playing but wanted her attention. He placed his hands around his mouth and bellowed.

"YO!"

He grimaced as he looked around and listened, waiting for any sign of movement from outside or Claire's bedroom. He tried again, louder this time.

"Cherry!"

The music stopped this time and he watched as Claire put down whatever she was holding and waited, obviously curious about what she might have heard.

"Princess!" Bender said, and watched as Claire went to her window and threw the curtains back.

"John?" Claire asked, as she peered down at the pool John saw her give him a slight smile and waited.

"Can I come up?" John asked her, giving her a mischievous smile.

John smiled internally as he saw the smile that wavered between disapproving and shyness. Claire gave him a small nod and disappeared from the window. John walked around the pool again, toward the sliding glass doors that led to the rest of the house. A few moments later, Claire was making her way toward him and it wasn't until she opened the doors before he got a good look at her.

He raised his eyebrows slightly, unable to stop himself. She looked different, very different. Claire wasn't wearing a shitload of jewellery, she was wearing jeans and a simple shirt that showed part of her stomach. John swallowed, not able to talk and looked at her face; he wasn't even sure if she was wearing any makeup at all. She looked-

"Are you coming in or not?" Claire asked him, impatiently, interrupting his thoughts, "It's cold."

John blinked and stepped in beside her. He watched as she closed the sliding doors and walked quietly past him, toward the stairs. He was following behind just as quietly. It was very dark inside the house as the two of them made their way up the stairs and toward the only light on that floor. Claire waited for John to enter her room before closing the door behind her. John was looking around the room expecting it to be frilly and pink, but it wasn't. It was hardly what he was expecting. He turned to look at her and noticed her face. He smiled at this.

"How do you like me being in your room, sweets?" he asked her.

Claire glared at him, "You're not staying."

He took another step closer to her, wanting to smell her more than any other reason, except maybe to see her squirm, "Then why'd you lead me here? Are you just _trying_ to lead me on? That hurts."

Claire looked uncomfortable, moving her face away from his. John smiled as she spoke and placed his arms on the door frame, "I only let you in because it's cold outside."

"You do care." John said softly, daring to lean in closer so that they were only a breath away from each other, still not touching her. Bender loved what he was doing to her.

Claire didn't look at him and John heard the turn of a door handle. He watched as Claire turned her back on him squeezed her way through her now open door, trying as hard as she could to not touch him, "Wait here while I get some more of my brother's clothes."

John sighed and dropped his arms as the door closed behind Claire. Damn. John liked what he was doing to her, but he didn't like what she doing to him. He was trying his hardest, but she was refusing him every step of the way. Maybe that was the attraction; the more she resisted, the more he wanted her, and when he finally got her? She'd want more and he'd want nothing to do with her. Relationships are complicated and a waste of time and effort. That's how he felt, right?

Unable to answer himself, John turned his attention to the rest of the room, surprised at the posters Claire had on her wall. He'd never peg her as a Meat Loaf, fan. Ever. But there it was and he smiled at this. For someone who had a lot of shit, Claire didn't seem to have much at all. John turned his head to look at the bed and his eyes spotted the violin. Curious, her bent down to stare at it. He's never seen one in real-life before, and he couldn't remember if he heard one either. He lifted a finger and gently struck one of the strings, then another. Then he thumbed all of them.

Behind him, the door opened and Claire saw him looking at the violin. John watched her swallow then close the door behind her softly, her hand holding a small bundle of clothing. She marched over to him and gave him the clothing.

"Here." Claire said, resolutely, "You should bathe too, you smell."

"Always with the insults." John replied, feigning hurt. He sighed and then headed for the en-suite bathroom, knowing the reaction he was about receive.

"Wait, John!" Claire said, but John had already made his way into the bathroom and closed the door swiftly behind him, holding it shut. He smiled as he heard Claire from the other side, "You can't use that one."

"Why?" John replied, locking the door, "Afraid you might see something you like?"

That stopped her and he heard an irritated sigh. John turned and saw a small bathroom with a standing shower and a single toilet. He turned on the faucet for the shower and started to strip. When he got in, the warm water was more than refreshing and if felt good against his skin. When he was done, he stepped out and saw himself in the mirror. He frowned as he saw the bruise on his torso, truly glad Claire did not see it. He placed a finger gingerly on his ribs and winced. All the running he did yesterday morning probably didn't help the healing process. He sighed to himself and started putting on the clothes Claire provided for him.

As John reached for the door handle, he listened, and heard the violin again. Claire probably didn't notice he was done, or if she did, she played anyway. As quietly as he could, he opened the door and watched Claire playing. her eyes were closed and her long fingers were moving up and down the instrument quickly and expertly. He'd never seen anyone place so well before, she was in her own little world and John found himself for once, thinking of Claire and not Mark. He opened the door wider and stepped out, listening. When Claire finally opened her eyes, she gasped, her cheeks reddening as John stood, unable to stop himself from smiling.

"How long were you standing there?" she demanded.

John didn't say anything and shrugged, pretending not to care, but he really did.

Claire glared at him again, then placed her violin down and crossed her arms, "You know where to go."

"I don't remember the way." John said, looking at her as innocently as possible.

Claire let out a sigh and pointed at her door.

"Come on." John said, giving up and raising his hands, trying to seem sincere, "It's still light out. Won't try anything, promise."

Claire clearly didn't believe him. She looked at him for a moment longer then walked across the room to her table and rolled the desk chair to him, which he took. Claire walked to her bed and sat in it. There was an awkward silence for a moment before Claire spoke up.

"You had detention, yesterday, right?"

John nodded his head and rubbed his hand, a cramp coming up, "Yup."

"What's wrong with your hand?" Claire asked, sounding somewhat concerned.

"Cramp." John said, not wanting to go into details. She was not going to see him feeling vulnerable.

"It's swollen." Claire said, slowly, looking at his hand, then at him, "You didn't punch anything...or anyone...right? It's not broken, right?"

"What?" Bender asked, looking at her amazed, "I don't go around punching things for the hell of it."

Claire looked at him, unconvinced, "Well, maybe you should ice it, anyway."

"It's fine." Bender said, shortly.

"Fine, be that way." Claire replied, curtly, "I'm just trying to help you."

"I don't-" John stopped himself. He sighed, looking at her. She was watching him, probably wondering what just happened. In all honesty, he was, too. Then he said to her something he never told many, "Sorry."

Claire's eyebrows disappeared in her hair as she stared at him, dumbstruck.

"Stop." John told her, feeling uncomfortable now and he could feel his anger rising. Fuck, anything could set him off, especially Claire. He stood up quickly and turned away from her, "Just, cut it out."

"Okay." Claire said quietly after a moment.

John wanted to change the subject, but he wasn't sure what to say except revert back to his old habits of sexual innuendos, but before he could say anything Claire started up again.

"What do you think of my room?"

John turned his head to look at her over his shoulder and then said, "Unexpected."

"Made a few changes." Claire said, standing up from her bed, her arms still crossed, "More than a few. I like it better this way. Turns out my friends were the reason I stopped playing the violin. I hate my friends."

"Maybe you should think of getting new ones." John told Claire, turning to face her. She was leaning sideways against the wall and staring out the window. Her neck was the only thing he saw, and he wanted to take her right then. He placed his hands to his eyes and rubbed, trying to think of other things. He had no idea why he was keeping himself in check, but he was. Fuckin' a, John was.

_Why_ the fuck was he?!

Claire let out a soft breathy laugh, "I have, Brian and Allison. Andy. I bet they would find a violin more impressive then knowing how to put on lipstick using only my boobs."

"I wouldn't mind seeing that again, truth be told." John said, smiling at her, mischievously.

Claire looked at him for a moment then asked, "Why are you still wearing the earring I gave you?"

This startled John he only managed a, "What?"

"The earring I gave you in detention." Claire said, walking over to him, but not too close, "You're wearing it."

"So?" John replied, feeling defensive, "You want it back, is that it?"

"Not at all." Claire said, watching him and then shrugged, "Just wondering why you're still wearing it."

"Because," John replied quickly, "If I don't have anything in my ear, it'll close. Did the piercing myself. Don't want my work ruined."

"Right." Claire said, "You have other pairs, I know you do."

"You don't believe me?" John asked, annoyed, his temper on the rise. _The hell?_

"Nope." Claire said with a shake of her head, "I don't think a lot of what come out of your mouth is the truth, Bender."

"Who the hell do you think you are to tell me what the truth is or not, cherry?" Bender asked, taking a step toward her, and feeling hot.

"I can tell when you're lying." Claire said, taking her own step toward him. She was speaking very calmly, but her eyes flahsed and she looked just as angry as he felt, "I'm just asking you a simple question. You can't even answer it, can you?"

"I gave you a simple answer!" John roared, wondering how she could make him feel this angry and horny at the same fucking time. _She was a witch_, he decided, _a succubus, a temptress._ God, he wanted her_._

"There's no reason for you to yell, Bender." Claire said slowly, her face very, very close, "Just answer the question."

John gave up on resisting and leaned down and planted his lips on Claire's, angrily at first and he felt her resist, but he didn't let go, he couldn't. He was so pissed off with her but something else was making him want to fully commit to this, to her. Claire was still fighting, trying to push him away, but she was hardly strong enough. He kissed her again and agin, her resistance failing as her arms fell lumpily around his shoulders, her own kisses giving way. Suddenly, John felt a sudden blow and grunted in pain, his arms hugging his torso as he moved away from her.

"Fuck." John whispered, his eyes closed from the pain.

"John?" Claire asked, and he felt a hand on his back.

He wanted to tell her to go away, but couldn't get the words out. He could feel Claire's hands reaching around him and pushing him on the chair she had provided for him earlier. John tried to resist but this made the pain worse. He watched in silence as Claire bent down beside him and found the edges of his shirt and began to roll it up. John wanted to swipe her hands away, but any movement just made everything hurt more. What made it worse was Claire's face as she looked at the large bruise on his ribs; a hand was over her mouth and her eyes, horrified. He sighed, looking away, not wanting her to see his face. Claire didn't say another word before she got up and walked out the door. John winced as he slowly unrolled his shirt to place over his ribs, ignoring the pain. Claire returned moment later with a bag of ice. She swat at John's hands, glaring at the face he gave her and bent before him again. Gingerly, she placed the bag of ice on his and Bender shuddered from the cold. Neither of them said anything as Claire shifted the ice around his ribs, trying to keep down the swelling. John was at a loss, not sure how he should feel at the moment.

"The ice has mostly melted." Claire announced sometime later, "Do you think you can walk?"

"Yeah." John said, quickly, as he reached for his shirt to pull it down.

It was easier this time, he didn't really feel pain, or anything on that side for that matter. With a grunt and a painful wince, he pushed himself away from the chair and balance himself on his feet. Claire stood up beside him, the bag of ice still in her hands. She looked at him quickly before turning away and heading for her bathroom. John took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. Then he took a step to test out his ribs. It was okay, didn't hurt much, then he took a few more steps around, still not to bad. He began to pace now, quicker. It was okay. He could take it. He turned to see Claire standing at the doorway, watching him.

"I'll head down." John said, feeling strangely awkward, "I'm...tired."

"Did your dad do that to you?" Claire asked him quietly.

John didn't look at her nor did he answer, not wanting to say anything about the situation that had occurred and what just happened. He felt a hand in his own and looked up to see Claire looking at him. John wasn't sure what to say but felt a small tug, Claire leading him to her bed.

* * *

><p>Brian was sitting on his porch, waiting for the mailman to show up. He looked at his watch. It was a minute to two o'clock and he wanted to be the first to find out what schools he might have gotten into. He had never bothered to sign up for a state school, promising himself that the last thing he wanted was to stay in Illinois. Brian heard the sound of a vehicle and saw the mail truck about two houses away.<p>

He sighed inwardly, feeling impatient. His leg was pumping up and down on his porch steps as he tried to keep himself warm. It was a cold Saturday; winter was coming closer. He was supposed to be inside doing his homework, but he had already finished. Brian managed to sneak outside while his mother was on the phone, complaining about one thing or another. The truck was closer, but not close enough. There were about ten different schools Brian had applied to, each one farther and farther away from his hometown. He wondered whether his relationship with his parents were going to get worse or better?

Ah, there was the mail truck. Brian stood up from his spot and ran over to his mailbox, nearly slipping on the fallen leaves from the large oak tree in his front yard. He took hold of his mailbox to keep his balance, his forehead hitting the aluminium. He rubbed it as he looked up to see the mailman staring at him, an eyebrow raised.

"Hi." Brian said, not really knowing what else to say. The mailman said nothing, his hands holding a wad of envelopes. Brian reached over and took them, "I-I'll take those, thanks. Have a-have a nice day."

Brian turned to walked back to his house, and looked at the papers in his hands. Mum, rubbish, rubbish, bill, bill, dad, rubbish, more rubbish and Brian. Brian's eyes lit up, then he saw another, then another, and two more. He felt elated as he made his way back quickly int the house. He reached for the front door, expecting the handle to do it's job and open the door, but it didn't and his nose smacked straight into it. Brian sighed, now rubbing his nose and walked around back to where he sneaked out in the first place. He opened the sliding glass doors and stepped in, not caring his mother was off the phone. He dropped his parent's mail on the table, holding only his. He wasn't even aware of his mother yelling at him, his mind focused on the letter addressed to him. All of them felt thick in his hands.

"Brian! What do you think you're doing?" Brian looked up to see his rather irate mother glaring at him, "Why aren't you doing your homework?"

"I'm finished." Brian said, turning away form her and sitting at the living room table.

"What is that?" His mother demanded.

"Acceptance letters." Brian said, ripping into the first one.

"Acceptance letters?" Brian's mother said, her voice changing dramatically. She walked over to him and looked over his shoulder, "I didn't know you already applied."

Brian didn't answer her and quickly read:

**Dear Mr. Brian Johnson,**

**Congratulations on your admission to Miami University!  
><strong>**For nearly 150 years, MW has proudly welcomed students that excelled and rose above their peers, ****and we are excited for you to be part of this great tradition...  
><strong>

_Blah, blah, blah..._

Brian smiled to himself, as he stared at the name of the University and its location, this one was in Ohio. He placed this letter onto the table and reached the next one. Another congratulations from the University of Michigan. Brian's smiled grew wider and he placed this one of the table as well. His mother snatched it up and read it as well. Brian ripped open the next one, his excitement almost uncontainable, congratulations from North Carolina, and finally the last one, he received a congratulations from Vermont. Brian stood up from his seat, his happiness almost overwhelming.

"Brian." his mother started.

"Yes?" Brian asked, looking at her expectantly. Her face was unreadable, her eyes looking over the acceptance letters. She looked up at him, "When did you apply?"

"I've been applying for about two months." Brian told her, taking off the red cap he wore, "Isn't this great? College letters are coming in."

"Where else did you apply?" Brian's mother asked, not sharing in his excitement at all.

Brian thought ticking off his fingers, "California, Texas, Virginia, a few in Canada, and England-Oxford and Durham."

His mother stared at him, "Canada? England?"

"Yeah. Yes, I mean." Brian corrected himself, but his mother didn't seem to notice.

"What about Illinois?" His mother asked, looking at him.

"What about it?" Brian asked, reaching for the acceptance papers and folding them. He was going to put them on the cork-board over his desk so that he could slowly decide where he wanted to go.

"Don't you want to go to school, here?" His mother asked, sounding really odd. He'd never seen her act this way before.

"No." Brian told her bluntly.

His mother looked at him, strangely, then shook her head, walking away from him and towards the kitchen, "No, you need to apply to a school close to home."

"Why?" Brian asked her, following her.

"Because, we can't afford a school out-of-state." His mother said firmly, as if this was the end of the argument.

"I'm getting scholarships." Brian replied, looking at her, feeling upset, "You won't have to pay for anything."

"You received a detention, Brian." His mother said in a final way, "You won't get any scholarships."

"I don't think you understand how the school system works." Brian said, staring at her, "Scholarships depend on grades and academic performances and extra-curricular activities. I'm a shoe-in for valedictorian _and_ I'm in three, really competitive clubs. I think I'll be okay."

"No."

"No, what?" Brian asked, his impatience finally getting the better of him.

"No, you can't go out of state." Brian's mother said.

"Why not?!" Brian yelled, his temper exploded.

"Because I said so, that's why!" His mother spewed, looking at him, "And don't you dare talk back to me, young man. You are living under my roof and you will do as I say."

"You should be happy for me! So far, every school I've applied to, I've been accepted in! " Brian bellowed, ignoring everything his mother said, "All you can do is find some way to put me down, or put dad down. Maybe I don't want to live here anymore! Maybe I don't want to listen to you anymore! Why do you think I applied everywhere else _besides_ Illinois?! To fucking get away from _you!_"

Brian was breathing hard, his head filled with anger and hate and guilt and freedom; feelings he's never felt or never remembered feeling. He stood for himself to the one bully he always had but only realised it then. He was still quite red with anger and in a huff, he turned on his heels and ran up the steps to his room, ignoring his mother's sputters. When he was on his floor, his sister was sitting by the banister, her legs between the decorative fence that looked down to the ground floor. He let out a sigh and looked at her, wondering what she was thinking. She wasn't crying, but it was apparent she heard everything.

Brian sighed and said to her, "As soon as you can, get out of this house. Don't ever choose to stay here."

Mary didn't answer him and Brian walked past her, his letters clutched in his hands, feeling more determined than ever. He closed his door and walked over to his desk. He spread out the letters and tacked them to his board, his mind still full of angry thoughts but he was calming. He had never spoken to his mother that way before. He could only imagine the sort of argument that was going to ensue between his father and his mother. He wasn't looking forward to that because as usual, he was going to be in the middle of it, his sister taking the sidelines. He sighed softly to himself, his eyes looking at the letters. No, he couldn't back down now. He wasn't going to be bullied, anymore.

* * *

><p><em>Well, this is quite the long chapter...<em>  
><em>I hope that keeps you for awhile. :D<em>

_What did you think?_


	10. Chapter 10

_I'm on a roll with these chapters. It's kind of refreshing.  
>Hope I'm not updating too fast.<em>  
><em>Please, enjoy.<em>

* * *

><p>Allison was on her back lying beside Andy, looking up at the stars on the hood of Andy's car. His arm was supporting her head, his fingers interlocked with hers. She was biting her lower lip, trying not to smile so much, it was embarrassing, but she was so happy. Allison was normally at odds with anyone in such close proximity, but she found Andy to be so comforting; his warmth, his energy, his...passion. It was enough to make her head explode. Was she allowed to be this happy? Allison surprised herself when she had kissed Andy initially, she wan't sure what she was thinking or where her recklessness came from. She had just made out with one of the more popular boys in high school, probably one of the ones that used to make fun of her. She thought back to Greg, and wondered how many of his words rung true with Andy. Do they still ring true?<p>

"Do you have any brothers or sisters?" Allison asked him, trying to change the subject in her own head.

"Yeah." Andy replied. Pause, then, "Do you?"

Allison shook her head, "No. I kinda wish I did."

"Why?" Andy asked her.

"Dunno." Allison said softly, playing with his fingers, "Maybe I wouldn't feel so lonely all the time."

Pause, then Andy asked almost shyly, "Are you lonely, now?"

Allison had to take a minute to think about it, then let out a small smile feeling shy herself, "No, I'm not."

"Good." Andy replied, sounding relieved and satisfied and she felt his arm tighten around her, briefly.

"Brothers or sisters?" Allison asked him, curious about his life.

"Brothers." Andy replied, sleepily.

"How old are they?"

"One is 30, the other..." Andy stopped talking, making Allison look up at him. He was still staring at the night sky, his eyes reflecting the stars, his face unreadable, "the other...is 10."

Allison stared at him. He wasn't saying everything, but she wasn't one to push. Instead, she cradled closer to him, thinking he might need it and also because she was getting cold from not moving for so long. She felt Andy's arms tighten around her again before he leaned and kissed her on the forehead. Andy let out a sigh. Allison stared at him, wondering what was going through his mind, but he wasn't giving anything away, easily. She turned her head back and stared up. When she was in her attic, she often looked up toward the sky, trying to count all the stars she could see. Here, she kept losing count.

"I'm quitting wrestling." Andy suddenly announced, softly.

Allison raised her eyebrows and changed her position so that she was laying on her side, bending her arm so that her head could balance on her palm. Andy removed his arm and placed it behind his head, his eyebrows furrowed, thinking furiously, she could almost hear the little gears in his head working. Allison waited, his face still upward.

"Tired of my father, my coach, my team-mates, looking over my shoulder, pressuring me to be the best. I couldn't deal, anymore." Andy said, his voice louder, as if he really needed to say all this out-loud, to gain the courage and prove to himself that _this_ was his final decision, "I'm done."

Allison thought, then, "Is that when you told your father you hated him?"

Andy didn't make any movement as if he didn't hear her, but then he finally nodded, "Yeah."

Allison nodded her head, "You think you'll be happier?"

"I hate wrestling." Andy finally turned his head to look at Allison then chuckled.

"What?"

"You sound like Jeff." Andy said, looking at the skies again.

"Jeff?" Allison asked, curiously.

"My brother." Andy supplied, "I called him up, told him I was quitting. He went through the same shit, I did. He was braver than I was."

"How so?" Allison asked.

"Dropped out of high school and he left the house at 16." Andy replied, now sitting up, his back against the windshield of his car, "I tried to not make the same choices Jeff did, thought I could make the old man happy. Thought wrong."

"Well, how's Jeff doing?" Allison asked him.

"He's got a wife and a kid." Andy said, a small smile creeping on his face, "He seems really happy, like, really happy. I want to be that happy, someday."

Allison was also sitting up and facing him, her legs crossed. She didn't say anything for a moment, then, "What about your little brother? Is your father doing the same thing to him?"

Andy was looking at his trousers, touching a loose fibre on his jeans, then shook his head silently.

Allison chewed on her lower lip, thinking of what to say next, "Are you going to quit sports altogether?"

"Dunno." Andy replied, sounding bitter, "Sports are all I know. If I quit now, I might not get into college. Wrestling was what I was riding on. I want to go to college just so I can get the hell out of here."

Allison couldn't help feeling slightly hurt by this, but overlooked it and said, "Is there another sport you're interested in?"

"Swimming." Andy replied, quickly, "I was really good and I liked it. Dad made me quit."

"Then go for it." Allison told him.

"I think the season is over, though." Andy said looking at her, "They'd never let me in, now."

"So ask!" Allison said, feeling excited for him, but he didn't look at it, he just seemed more sullen, "_Show_ them how good you are so they'll want to take you!"

"I haven't swum in years-"

"Stop making excuses, Andy!" Allison said, interrupting him, wondering why the hell he was excited about a new opportunity, a new outlook, "If you want something so bad, then go for it. Don't take 'no' for an answer and just do it!"

"It isn't that simple, Allison-" Andy started.

"Why not?" Allison asked him, "Who cares what other people think? Tell them to 'fuck off'!"

"Because!" Andy said loudly over her, making Allison stare at him in surprise. Andy was now talking fast, his hands in fists and his back straight, "Because I know wrestling! It's what I'm known for! Colleges everywhere were looking for me, Andrew Clark, the '_All-Star_', the '_Best On the Team_'! They _wanted me_, willing to _pay_ for me through college. I would finally get away from my father, away from this shit-hole!"

Silence.

"And forced to continue doing something you absolutely hate." Allison finally told him, quietly.

Andy let out a sigh and leaned back against his windshield once more. He nodded his head, "It's a lose-lose."

A pause, then, Allison asked, "Did you ever ask yourself why you even _want_ to go to college?" Andy turned his head to look at her, looking unsure of what to say, "You're quitting the team. Have you ever thought of just, moving out?"

"I don't have any money."

"There are jobs out there, Andy." Allison replied. Andy gave a half shrugged, looking defeated. Allison sighed then repositioned herself so that she was sitting on her knees, "Wanna know what I'm going to be?"

Andy looked at her for a moment, then nodded.

"A starving artist."

Andy raised his eyebrows, "What?"

"Think of the freedom." Allison said, watching him, "I won't have the money to eat, but I'll be able to just draw and paint whatever I want. I can make change here and there by drawing fat mothers holding their spoiled babies in carnivals and amusement parks like Disney World."

Andy was staring at her as if she were crazy, and Allison smiled at him, liking that she could still do that to him. Andy opened his mouth, "You really thought this out."

"You're welcome to join."

"I'll pass." Andy said, smiling at her, "With the way I draw, I don't think you'll be making any money."

Allison then yawned, feeling very sleepy and stretched, "What time is it?"

Andy looked at his watch, yawning as well and his eyes widened, "Oh, shit. It's after midnight. Damn, curfew."

Allison giggled and got off the hood of the car and reached for the handle of the passenger door, "We wouldn't have to do this, if we were starving artists."

"Uh," Andy said, stepping into the driver seat beside Allison and placed his keys in the ignition, "you've seen me eat, right?"

Allison grinned.

* * *

><p>Andy was driving down the mountain side, slowly and carefully, Allison beside him in the passenger seat. He stole a quick glance at her before looking back at his driving and smiling to himself. He really liked Allison. It was weird. Any time in the past, he would never have taken a second glance at her, but things have changed dramatically, and he could probably admit, for the better. When they finally made it off the mountain and into the main roads, Andy let out a sigh, not wanting the night to end, an unusual thought. Andy was deliberately driving about five miles below the speed limit; Shermer was really not that far away, in a moment, they were about to cross the border back into Illinois.<p>

Andy glanced at Allison, suddenly remembering something, "So, you made your mother cry?"

Allison started for a moment before turning her head to look at Andy. She took a moment before giving him a silent nod.

"You've never made her cry before?"

Allison shook her head, her face neutral.

"What happened?" Andy asked her.

Allison let out a small sigh, before turning her head to look at her hands that were sitting in her lap. She shrugged before she said, "I yelled at her then went to my room for something. When I went back, she was crying. It was weird."

"Why?"

Allison didn't say anything for so long, Andy looked at her again. Her eyes were bright against the flashes of lights that illuminated Interstate 90 highway. Andy wasn't sure she was going to answer him, but then she let out another sigh.

"It was the longest conversation I ever had with my mother." Allison finally responded, "In a long time."

Andy frowned at the road ahead of him, "What happened?"

"I just told you." Allison replied, bluntly.

"No, I mean," Andy started again placing both his hands on the steering wheel, curious about Allison, "how did it get this way; your parents ignoring you?"

"Oh..." Allison said quietly. She had placed her hand under her chin, not looking at anything in particular. She seemed almost lost in thought, as if she hadn't thought of this in a long time, "When I told them I didn't want to dance anymore, my parents insisted, my mother especially. When I wasn't trying as hard as I used to, I think they sort of...gave up. On me, not themselves." Allison sounded almost bitter.

Andy didn't say anything, frowning. It must suck to have parents give up on their own kid, their _only_ kid. Perhaps it was rather cruel, but he had to wonder what it would be like if they suddenly switched positions; Allison was the one with a large family, a doting mother, and dominating father, and him, Andy, with parents that allowed him to do whatever he wanted. It was almost ideal to Andy, but it was clear as he looked at her, that Allison wasn't very happy at all.

"...Do you think-" Andy started then paused, making Allison look at him and he continued, "-if you started dancing again, they'd pay attention to you? Again?"

Allison gave a slow shrug, a crease between her eyebrows forming and her frown growing slightly deeper.

Andy swallowed and tried again. He wasn't sure why he was hesitating with her so much, but he thought he might be treading on dangerous ground. She scared him, sometimes. Of all the stories he heard about her, before he met her, there was no mistaking the intimidating glare only she could fully accomplish, "Would you want them to pay attention to you?"

Allison, again, didn't answer right away, her thoughts quietly hidden away but working hard. Andy could tell she was thinking about the question throughly before answering, her face blank. Andy was about to make the turn into Shermer, which meant the night was going to end in less than fifteen minutes.

Finally Allison responded, "I think it would depend on the situation."

Andy waited. Allison wasn't saying anything. Then he asked as he stared at her before making a left onto a main street toward Allison's neighbourhood, "Like what?"

"Well, if I was in your position, I might like it. Dancing was everything to me for most of my life," Allison said, looking thoughtful her head turned to look at Andy, "Then again, I might change my mind if my entire life was depending on what my father had to say."

Andy couldn't agree more, "Yeah..."

"But what about Brian?" Allison asked him, "His mother has to know everything about every second of his day. He hardly has any freedom, or time to himself. Did _you_ know he had a sense of humour?"

Andy looked at her for a moment before shaking his head. No, he didn't know that, but he's never bothered to get to know him before.

"It's kinda morbid," Allison admitted, a small weird smile on her face, "but he's really funny and really smart. I think he'll be president, one day."

Andy felt a sudden pang of guilt, "Then you have guys like me keeping him down."

"Yeah." Allison agreed, making Andy feeling even lower.

"Then, there's Claire."Allison continued. _She really thought this through_, Andy thought, "Her parents pay attention to her by constantly giving her things. She's a product of her upbringing, but that's not the sort of person she is-all she knows is what she's told. I don't think she's ever made a decision for herself. Even if my parents don't pay attention to me, I can still make my own choices."

Andy said nothing as he turned into Allison's neighbourhood.

"Then, there's John Bender." She paused.

Andy looked at her before looking back at the road, his mind focusing more on the number of the houses. It was a bit of a maze in this neighbourhood, "What about him?"

"His family is abusive." Allison said, clearly stating the obvious, "I wouldn't be able to _do_ anything, _say_ anything. Can you imagine what he must go through, everyday? What he has to do to survive?"

Andy had to admit that he would never want to be in a family situation as Bender, and sure, he might not know what goes on in John's everyday life, it wasn't an experience he was familiar with, but honestly, John didn't have to be an asshole. He was fucking arrogant prick, and his bad attitude wasn't something he had to display because he wanted to show how tough he was. Andy proved he could take John Bender down if he needed to, and that's usually all it took. He hadn't seen John Bender in awhile, not that he cared...well, no, that wasn't entirely true. Andy did care, but only a little. Just a little.

"Oh, here's my house." Allison announced.

Andy saw it, too, and turned into the house with his car. It was dark, Claire's vehicle was gone and the driveway was empty. Andy pulled his car as close to the house as was allowed and placed it in park. He reached for the keys of his ignition and turned it. The car hummed for a moment before shutting off. It was quiet, crickets could be heard but not much else. Andy turned to look at Allison, her eyes on him a small smile on her face.

"Hi." Andy said, suddenly feeling shy.

"Hi." Allison mouthed, then sighed. She was about to turn and reach for the handle of the passenger door and open it but Andy reached over, unable to stop himself.

"Wait.."

Allison turned her head and raised her eyebrows, expectantly.

"I..." Andy started, but he couldn't really say anything that made sense, "...uh..."

"Walk me to the door." Allison replied after a small pause.

Andy couldn't say anything and let go. Allison reached for her handle and pushed the door open before stepping out. Andy followed suit, and stepped out into the cold air. He closed his door with a slam and saw Allison waiting for him in front of his car's hood, his jacket still tight around her. He liked her wearing it and thought it suited her, well. Andy reached for her and pulled Allison toward him, wrapping his arms around her, tightly. He heard a slight gasp coming out of Allison's mouth and felt a breath on his neck. She seemed to be responding to Andy's touches quicker, and this made him want to keep her in that position, longer.

"I had a good time, Andy." Allison said, softly.

"Me, too." Andy said, letting her go slightly. He looked at her, feeling happy and with one hand, reached over and caressed her neck then her cheek, asking for permission. Allison smiled and bit her lower lip before Andy leaned over and pressed his lips against hers.

The first kiss was quick, almost tentative as the two of them slowly figured out how much affection each of them might want to give and to receive. Then another kiss, and another, each one longer, each one more passionate. Andy felt a feeling wash over him that made him not want to let Allison go, a feeling he had never felt with anyone else. It was almost scary, moving into such new territory, but at that moment, he hardly wanted anything more. He liked Allison, he liked her peculiarities, he liked that she was an artist, that she knew how to dance, that she had the ability to make choices, and not care about consequences. It was something he never experienced before, it was something he needed.

There was the sound of a car and flash of bright lights. Andy turned his head and watched as the headlights of a car made its way onto the drive, stopping right behind Andy's vehicle. Andy heard a disgruntled noise and sigh from Allison and he looked back at her. She was wearing a frown as the the engine from the cur shut off and the lights disappeared. Andy turned his head back and saw two shadows emerging from the car. There was silence and then the sound of two car doors slamming closed simultaneously. Two sets of footprints were audible in the dark silence, one with a flat step again the pavement, the other, quick and short taps. It wasn't until they came closer before Andy could see them properly.

One was a man. He was slightly balding, wrinkles visible, but he still had handsome features not giving off his proper age. He was tall and thin, Andy could swear a strong enough breeze would knock him over. He was wearing a frown on his face when he saw Andy. The other was a woman, perhaps slightly bigger than the man she stood beside. She wore far more make-up than she needed. She looked almost like Allison, but her nose was upturned as if there was something rather nasty hiding under her nostrils and her lips were forming something odd; as if she couldn't decide whether to be nervous or complimentary.

There was an awkward silence as the four of them looked at each other.

The woman than cleared her throat and said, "Well, Allison aren't you going to introduce us?"

Allison glared at her. Andy could feel her hand tightening around his, "No."

"I'm Andrew." Andy said bringing up his hand toward her. He could feel Allison's eyes on him but she didn't say anything, "Andy."

The woman looked at Andy's hand for a minute before taking it, slowly, as if she was going to be diseased if she touched it for too long. Andy turned his hand toward the man, who also shook it, briefly, but he looked incredibly uncomfortable.

"Well, if you'll excuse us," the man spoke up, also clearing his throat as he stared at Andy. He still hadn't even looked at Allison, "We need to go in. It's quite late. You aren't expecting to come in and eat our food, are you?"

Andy raised his eyebrows at this odd question, feeling incredibly surprised, "N-no. We ate."

"Well, good," the man said, brushing past Andy and Allison, the sound of keys in his hands, "if that's it."

The woman gave Andy and single nod, not even looking at Allison, before turning up her nose upward and walking after her husband. Andy could not believe these were the people that raised Allison. He looked at her, but she was staring after her parents, her face revealing nothing but he could swear there was fire in her eyes. When the door closed behind her parents, Allison let out a breath as if she was holding it in. She moved away from Andy and sat on the hood of his car, her hands beside her thighs.

"You okay?" Andy asked, sitting beside her.

She nodded, slowly, then she shook her head, "I wish you didn't tell them who you were."

"What?" Andy asked her, confused, "Why shouldn't I?"

"Because." Allison replied, "I don't want them knowing anything about me. Not ever."

"Why not?" Andy asked, surprised.

"It isn't any of their business!" Allison yelled, looking at him, angrily.

Andy felt taken aback. She's yelled at him before, and at the time, it didn't matter, but this time it did. He did something wrong and he certainly didn't mean to, "I-I'm sorry, Allison."

"It's over, it doesn't matter." Allison finally said, standing up irritably from Andy's car. She placed on her hips and turned around to look at Andy.

He watched as she leaned toward him, her eyes narrowed, her face angry. Andy was leaning back, not sure if she was going to hit him. Not that she could hurt him in anyway, but he wouldn't put it past her. She was small, but she was feisty, too.

"You can come back, only if my parents know nothing else about you, 'kay?" Allison said, keeping her eyes steady on him. She wasn't even blinking, "I don't want them ruining your life, too."

"How could they-" Andy started but Allison interrupted him.

"Promise!"

"Okay, okay, I promise." Andy said, raising his palms up.

Allison looked at him for a bit longer before leaning back and letting out a sigh and placing a hand tentatively on his knee, "They have no business knowing about my life when I'm completely out of theirs."

Andy swallowed, looking back at the house, then to Allison, her eyes down, her mouth in a sad frown. Andy grabbed her hand and stood in front of her. With his other hand, he lifted up her chin gently and smiled before leaning forward for another kiss.

* * *

><p>No, they did not have sex.<p>

Claire was no floozy; she wouldn't have allowed it, even if John tried. She had to admit how very brave she thought she was leading him to the bed like that. She could only wonder what was going through his head at that moment when she did. Claire didn't ask and John didn't explain, nor did he resist. Why she did it in the first place begs the question. Claire didn't know.

As they moved toward the bed, there was a definite surprise on John's face, before that, a sadness Claire had never seen before, he looked almost lost. It was strange, but it was something she had never seen on him and it surprised her. She was used to this angry and mean individual that only seemed to crave the usual sex, drugs, and alcohol, but now nearly everything was out in the open for her to see. As much as he tried to hide it, he couldn't then, and not in front of her. At least, not at that very moment.

Claire had gotten in the bed first, and waited for John to get in as well, her hand still in his. He looked incredibly hesitant but Claire simply pulled and he followed, slowly, wincing and groaning from the pain he felt on his ribs. Claire felt incredibly sorry for him, but tried to hide it on her face. The way he acted, she doubted he would have appreciated her pity or sympathy. She watched as he sat on the side of the bed, and slowly and painfully, John swung his legs around and placed them on the rest of the bed. He took in a deep breath, then let out a long sigh, one hand over his ribs, not looking at Claire. She looked at him for a moment before lying down herself beside him and turned her back so that she was sleeping on her side, looking away.

"Good night, John."

"Not having sex with you, Princess." was his reply, "Not that kind of guy."

Claire closed her eyes briefly before replying, "Shut up before I break your other ribs."

"Damn, Cherry." John said, chuckling but stopped, his groans sounding painful, "Didn't know you would kick a...[_wince_]... man while he was down. You are such a tease."

Claire was already sitting up and watching him, concern washing over her face as she looked over at him. He was inhaling and letting it out slowly, his breathing rigid and painful. Claire furrowed her eyes and removed her covers, ready to sit up and grab another bag of ice and perhaps the first-aid kit. She paused for a moment, wondering if her parents even had one. She knew Andrea knew of one in the house, but Claire could only guess where she placed it in this massive house Claire called a home. She felt a pressure on her hand. Claire looked and saw it was John's hand. She furrowed her eyebrows and looked at his face, he was shaking his head, his face unreadable.

"I'm just getting more ice." Claire said, ready to stand.

John had wrapped his fingers around her wrist, not letting her go.

"Don't."

"It would help." Claire replied, trying to remove her hand from John's grip.

"Don't need it." John told her, very firmly, his fingers tighter.

Claire stopped trying to resist, wondering what she should do next. When it was clear she wasn't leaving, John gave her arm a tug and didn't let go until she started crawling into bed beside him. It was such a strange feeling Claire had when she made her way back into the covers and her head fell back on the pillows. She turned to look at John, his eyes were already closed, his breathing deep and heavy and uneven. Claire had this sudden horrible thought he was dying but then called herself stupid and figure he was already falling asleep. She sighed, turned to her side again, and closed her eyes.

Now, it was morning and Claire opened her eyes with a start. She was on her stomach now, feeling extremely warm. It took her a moment before she realised how incredibly close her face was to John's. She widened her eyes as she slowly backed away, remembering that he was in her bed, remembering last night. Also a single thought was quieting the others; her parents were going to _kill her_ if they saw John in her room. She didn't even think of locking the door. Claire slowly let out a breath as she managed to slide off her bed without waking John up. When she was standing, she turned her head and stared at the clock on the night table beside her bed. It was still very early, 5:30. The alarm to her clock was about to chime in about an hour and it was going to wake him up. It was Monday.

_Shit._ Claire didn't plan this out very well.

She swallowed and tiptoed away from the bed and toward her bureau, making as little noise as possible as she reached into her drawers for clothing. She closed her drawers quietly, looking over her shoulder at John, his chest moving up and down steadily. Any other person who saw him like this would never believe he had a gruff and crude side; he seemed so peaceful. Claire moved away from her bureau and turned to her closet to find the outfit she was going to wear for that day. Claire was about to head into the bathroom when she suddenly heard a noise outside her door. She gasped and reached for her door and quickly locked it, her heart beating.

Claire placed an ear to the door trying to listen. She could hear Andrea downstairs, already inside the house. A set of keys were placed on the kitchen marble countertops. She could hear her father and Andrea talking and exchanging niceties. Claire let out a sigh, and backed away from the door. She gave another quick look at John then headed for the bathroom. She knew the routine; her father was going to have a cup of coffee, some delicious breakfast Andrea was going to make for him, and then after yelling out a quick good-bye to Claire, he'll leave through the garage and his car will roar down the driveway.

Claire closed the bathroom door behind her and locked it. She let out a sigh, feeling terribly nervous. So many things could go wrong. Claire saw John's clothes folded neatly on the floor by the shower and raised her eyebrows at it. She wasn't expecting that, but then she frowned. He didn't have a lot of clothes, did he? These seemed similar to what he worn in all the few times she's seen him. In fact, Claire thought, picking up the pile and placing it on the countertop of her sink, they were exactly the same. Biting her lower lip, Claire turned and reached for the shower faucet, letting the room steam up as she stripped down before heading in.

After she was done, she put on the clothes she chose for the day, then piled the clothes she wore the night before into a ball and dropped them into a laundry basket. When she unlocked her bathroom door and stepped out, she stopped in her tracks. John was up. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, his legs swung over. He turned his head to look at Claire, his face unreadable again. She felt so awkward and cleared her throat.

"Uhm, your clothes are..." Claire started, using a thumb to point behind her, "If you need to use the bathroom, you can..."

John didn't say anything, but just at that moment she heard her father calling out to her. Thankful for the interruption, Claire reached for the handle of her bedroom door and swung it open, a little stronger than she intended and winced at the sound as her door smashed against the wall behind it. She sighed as she slowly moved the door away from the wall, noticing an indent on the wall.

"What was that?" Her father asked, sounding concerned.

"Oh, I just...tripped." Claire said, stepping out of her bedroom, "Are you leaving?"

"Uh, yes." Her father said, perhaps sounding slightly more curt than usual, "I'll be at the office, if you need me."

"Love you, Daddy." Claire called down.

"Love you, too, sweetheart." Her father said, and with a clearing of his throat, Claire heard the sound of his shoes against the tiled floor as they retreated toward the garage.

Claire swallowed and let out another sigh, then turned around to walk back into her bedroom. She looked at the bed, but John was no longer there. She frowned and stared after the bathroom, it was closed. Claire stared at it for a moment, wondering about the strange atmosphere, before focusing her thoughts on other things she needed to do. She went over to her desk and gathered the books, notebooks, and writing utensils that were on her table. On the floor beside her desk was a new backpack she had purchased-not a purse; she had given that away. Claire reached down to pick up her backpack and piled the books into it. She let out a sigh and looked around her room, wondering if she needed anything else. Her eyes fell on her violin case. It was open, her violin sitting quietly inside calling out to her. She toyed with the idea of bringing it with her, but she decided against it. Readjusting her straps of her backpack, Claire went to the bathroom door.

She paused, her knuckles hovering over the door. She dropped her hands and pressed her ear against the door. It was quiet, but she could hear movement. She swallowed and then rapped her knuckles quickly on it. The movement stopped.

"I'm heading downstairs. I can give you a ride to school if you want." Claire announced. She waited, then, "There's also breakfast, if you want it."

Nothing.

Claire furrowed her eyebrows then shrugged. If he didn't want to talk to her, he didn't talk to her. Maybe he was grumpy in the morning, she didn't know. Claire sighed softly and then retreated back toward her bedroom door. When she was out, she took one last look at the closed bathroom door before reaching for the handle of her main door and closing it. Claire decided not to think too hard about John, and changed her focus on breakfast and school. She suddenly remembered she had a test and grimaced, realising she didn't really study for it. It was also with Mr. Wrinkler. _Damn. _What could she do? Find Brian. Claire smiled to herself.

"Hey, there, pretty lady." Claire looked up and saw Andrea, a wide smile on her face and a mug of hot coffee between her hands. Andrea's smile wavered slightly as she looked at Claire, "Something wrong?"

"Just a test I forgot to study for." Claire said, thinking of the first thing that came to her mind, "The teacher's tough."

"Oh, you'll be okay. You get pretty good grades." Andrea said, putting her mug down and grabbing a plate from the cupboard above the stove she had been cooking on.

"I also have a really smart friend." Claire said, placing her backpack on the stool she was going to sit on. She leaned against the countertop on her elbows, "I'll find him in the library."

"I heard you playing the violin, yesterday, Claire." Andrea said, looking at Claire over her shoulder and smiling as she piled pancakes onto the plate. Andrea looked back at the stove as she plated the plate on the counter, "It was wonderful."

"Oh," Claire groaned and placing a hand on her face, "I can't believe you heard me. I must have sounded terrible."

"Not at all!" Andrea said, turning and placing the plate in front of Claire and placing a bottle of syrup beside it. Andrea retreated to the large fridge and pulled out a jug of orange juice and milk, "You sounded great! Better, I think, since the last time I heard you."

"Thanks, Andrea." Claire said, not convinced, as she starting cutting into her syrup-covered pancakes. They smelled delicious and she suddenly felt incredibly hungry. She looked up as Andrea placed the milk, juice, and an empty glass beside Claire's plate, "Did you eat, already?"

"Oh, yeah," Andrea said, her mug between her hands again, "My day starts at four in the morning, hun."

Claire nodded, trying to figure out a way to tell Andrea that there was another guest in the house. It shouldn't be too difficult, as far as anyone knew, John was staying in the back of the house, by the pool. Claire sighed, wondering when he was going to come down, she was getting anxious. Her leg was pumping up and down. She was trying to force her thoughts back on school and what the rest of her day was going to be like. She decided to talk about something off-topic.

"Emerson is coming home." Claire announced, placing a piece of pancake in her mouth, "He called me, yesterday."

"Is he?" Andrea said, her eyes lighting up. She always had an especially soft spot for Emery. Probably because he was a lot nicer than Claire was, everyone loved him, "Oh, that's great. Permanently?"

"Yeah." Claire said nodding, and swallowing, "But not here, Chicago. He already has a job."

"I missed that boy." Andrea said, looking thoughtful as she sipped from her mug. Her face turned serious, "Do your parents know?"

Claire shook her head and shrugged, "Dunno...I don't think he's talked to them."

"Hmm," was Andrea's reply, "the longer he puts it off, the harder it's going to be."

"You won't tell them, will you?" Claire asked, feeling worried, the last bit of pancake dripping from her fork.

Andrea shook her head, placing her mug on the counter, "Not my business, but you might want to convince your brother to call them up and tell them."

"They hate him." Claire said, angrily, chewing forcefully on the last bit of her food in her mouth.

"No, no, they don't." Andrea said, reaching over and patting Claire's hand, "They love him. He's their son, and no matter what, they'll always love him."

"They aren't really showing it, are they?" Claire said, pouring a glass of orange juice into an empty glass.

Andrea pursed her lips and said nothing. She finished the rest of her coffee and with a sigh took Claire's empty plate and her mug into the sink. Claire gulped down the juice and dropped her empty glass in the counter beside the sink.

"He's got you, Claire." Andrea finally said, as she finished cleaning up the plates, cups, and utensils, "If anything, he knows you love him."

This made Claire smile and feeling slightly better she turned and ran up the stairs with the intention of washing her teeth and to find out what was going on with John. Her door was open. Claire's eyebrows furrowed as she walked in, but there was no sigh of John anywhere in the room. She turned her head to look in the bathroom, but he wasn't in there either. His clothes were gone and the clothes John wore from the night before was folded neatly and sitting beside the sink. Claire's mouth opened a bit when she suddenly recognised a small object. Claire felt a strange feeling wash over her chest. She swallowed and slowly walked over to the pile and reached for the folded clothes. She fingered the item, numb. It was an earring.

* * *

><p>John was running. He ignored the pain he felt around around his ribs as he tried to take in deep breaths, but he couldn't stop running. He continued running and running until he made it to the main streets and stopped. He let out a groan as he leaned heavily against a metal light-post. His breathing was heavy and rigid, trying hard not to cough, it was killing him. He closed his eyes trying to catch his breath, the sweat pouring down his face, his heart beating so hard it was threatening to come out of his already pained chest.<p>

"Fuck." John whispered, unable to say anything louder, "Fuck, fuck, fuck..."

John swallowed, and brought his hands around his face, wiping the sweat and the hair clinging to his face, away. As slowly as he could, he took in a deep breath, but stopped short, coughing, his ribs aching. He tried again, his eyes closed, ignoring the pain. It was easier this time and he exhaled as slow as he could. He did this several more times until he felt his heart slowing down and his blood flowing to a less excited rate. He looked around, trying to get his bearings and was able to figure out where he was fairly quickly. He could go left and make his way to school, or he could turn right and skive. He had a choice to make. John really wished he had cigarettes. Or weed. Or something, anything, stronger.

The streets weren't quite busy yet. The sun was hardly up, only a few cars were driving past to wherever they were going. John turned and found a wall that surrounded a small park. John walked over to the wall and with his back to it, pushed himself up and slowly landed as softly as he could on its surface. He groaned as the impact of him sitting pushed against his ribs. He placed a hand around himself, and gingerly laid it against his side. He sighed as he looked down and stared at his feet. John could skip school, but he also knew of a policy that ensured all students attended for a number of days in order to graduate. John wasn't sure how many times he's skipped but he knew it was a lot. He couldn't take the risk. If he didn't graduate, how was he going to get custody of Mark? Both Detective Williams and his wife made John promise he would graduate this year.

John turned his head to look right, then left again, confusion darkening his thoughts.

He reached for his ear and felt nothing on his earlobe. He panicked for just a second, thinking he had lost it, before he remembered what he did. John frowned again and looked back down at his feet. He always had one goal in mind: Mark, and he never allowed anything to interfere. He wasn't used to someone else in his life, he didn't _like_ the fact that there was someone in his life that was making such an impact with him. John didn't like someone breaking down this very neat and heavy brick wall he had surrounded himself and his baby brother with. He didn't like anyone seeing him at his worst and he certainly didn't like anyone knowing his vulnerabilities. John was getting angrier the more he thought of Claire. The only connection he had with her was the earring and if he got rid of that, everything would be back to normal.

But it wasn't, was it? Even John knew that.

He growled under his breath and eased himself off the wall, turned left and started walking. He pushed his hands roughly into his pockets as he heard the traffic of cars pick up and notice more light peeking through the thick clouds over his head. John frowned, unsure of what to do. He wasn't going to avoid Claire, that wasn't his style. If anything, he welcomed confrontation, but it wasn't the same with Claire, nothing was ever the same with _fucking Claire_. He had an idea on what she was going to do, too; they would see each other in the hallways or something, maybe class, he would simply glare at her and she would look away from him, avoiding him, instead. Good, she could do all the fucking work. John sighed. Claire was going to look affronted, hurt, sad...

"The fuck do I care?" John said loudly, scaring an older couple that was walking past him. They looked at him and he glared until they quickly walked on, "Don't fucking care."

_Yes, you do._

_Fuck off._

John walked faster now, trying to avoid whatever his head was telling him otherwise and focused his mind on his future. He had an idea on what to do, his plans clearly stuck in his mind. He had written out a list of what he needed to do and he memorised it:

_Number 1-Apartment  
><em>He was turning 18 in a few weeks, he was going to legally be an adult and that meant he could legally find an apartment, somewhere he could live that was close to his parents so that he could check on Mark but far enough, his parents would never see him again. Mrs. Williams promised she would help him with that. Once, he had a place of his own, things might start looking up.

_Number_ 2-_Lawyer_  
><span>John didn't have a lot of money and he was warned not a lot of lawyers worked pro-bono and it will be even more difficult considering the sort of record John had. Williams warned him it looked bad. John knows he made mistakes, but he was more than determined. This was probably the hardest part, though, and John was hoping for a miracle. Williams did tell him he'll ask around but Bender shouldn't expect much. If John did manage somehow to find a solicitor that was willing to help him, the custody battle (because it was more than likely what it was going to turn into) could take well over a year. This scared John the most.

_Number 3-Graduate  
><span>_John didn't have a choice. He needed to buckle down and get serious. This was his last year as a high school student. He was never going to go to college and he knew that, but he needed to finish high school, at least. He needed help and the only person that might be willing to do that was Brian. John knew he was hard on him, but he figured the kid needed backbone. He hardly saw Brian at all after the detention and frankly, forgot about him, but now he needed him. The question was whether Brian was going to help. John figured he could scare the nerd into helping him, but for some reason, that didn't seem right, not anymore.

John was now standing in front of the school fence that looked into the football field. Ignoring the pain in his ribs, he started to climb the fence and swung his legs over and trying to avoid anymore pain, he climbed down the other side, until his feet touched the grassy ground. He crossed the field, his eyes watching the football players as they practiced their throws, the coach yelling and screaming at them, pointing at a clipboard in his hands. John watched amused as the coach angrily threw the board down and marched over to one of the players, lifting a hand and smacking him across the back of the head. John shook his head and continued walking until he made it to the bleachers. He nodded his head and greeted few burners he knew, making out in the dark, or just hanging out. He spoke with them for a few minutes and continued on until he found the doors to the gym. He wrenched them open and strolled inside.

He turned his head to see a wrestling match going and took a moment to look for Andy. He wasn't there. He shrugged, not caring very much when something caught the corner of his eye. Yeah, that was definitely Andy. He looked happy. Who was he with? Whoa, that chick from the detention. Fuckin' what was her name...Ashley, Amy, Ally...Allison. That's right, Allison...huh. Bender crossed his arms and found himself walking toward them, a smile on his face. They didn't notice him as he walked over, their heads close together, their backs toward him.

John placed an arm over their shoulders and said, "Well, lookie-here. You lovebirds are making quite the scene."

"Bender." Andy said roughly, pushing John's arm off of him, "The hell do you want?"

"Is that how you greet an old friend, sport-o?" John asked him.

"Hello, John." Allison said before Andy could reply. She gave him a smile and pat before removing John's arm gently and looking up at him, "It's been awhile. How are you?"

"See?" John said, smiling at Allison and glaring at Andy, "That's how you greet friends. Hope you'll be teaching him the necessary life lessons, both in public and in the bedroom. Or...is that one _your_ job, Clark?"

"Shut up, Bender." Andy said, his jaw working.

Allison, however, nodded her head, "Coming to school for once?"

"I'm always in school." John said with a shrug, "Just not in class."

"Just getting wasted under the bleachers." Andy replied, his arms crossed.

"Hey!" John yelled, raising a finger at him and feigning anger, "It's also a great place for make-out sessions. You two should try it sometime."

"Have you seen Claire?" Allison asked, suddenly. She sounded innocent, but Bender thought she was looking at him particularly scrutinisingly.

John looked at for a moment before letting out a rough shrug and yawning, "Why the fuck should I? She's probably hanging out with the rest of the fucking richies."

"I doubt that." Allison stated, looking at him for a moment longer before turning away, "She's usually in the library with Brian. I think I'm going to look for her."

John was pretending not to listen, but he was thoroughly interested in that piece of information. Allison said her goodbyes to Andy and to Bender's false disgust, kissed him, before Allison turned to leave. She asked whether John was going to join her, and he agreed, acting as if he had nothing better to do. Before Bender leaving with Allison, he gave Andy an obscene gesture; Andy wanted to thump him and John laughed. Bender turned and quickly followed after Allison as she made her way out of the gym. Christ, she walked fast, but Bender had long legs and he was more preoccupied with convincing himself that he was going to the library to see Brian not Claire. It was hard.

Allison quickly headed for the library, her head down and her books tight across her chest. Her bag was hanging down her side as she practically ran across the school to the library. Bender followed her, through the school, and past the library doors. Allison pushed it open and Bender looked up, noticing that it had been fixed. Allison continued on, past the stupid statue and another set of stairs that led to the top floors. Allison didn't stop until she was on the other side of the library, at one of its corners. There was a large window that sat behind two couches, both facing each other. There was Brian but no Claire. John tried to hide his disappointment.

"Brian."

The nerd turned his head and looked up to see Allison and he grinned, then he saw John and it wavered, "Hi, Allison. H-h-hi, John, Bender, John Bender."

"Relax, Einstein." John said, settling himself heavily into the couch and placing a foot on the coffee table, feeling the pain on his ribs. He hid that from his face as much as he could. He crossed his arms, amused as he watched Brian nervously shift his weight, "I'm not going to do shit."

"Oh, okay," Brian stuttered, "I-I really appreciate that."

"What are you working on?" John asked, reaching over and pulling away the books that were on the table in front of Brian. He closed the book with his thumb on the page Brian had opened and read the title, "'Thermodynamics and their Physical Material: Applications for the Real World'..._what?_"

John stared at him and Brian gave him a nod and pointed at the book with his pencil, "It's, uhm, a good read. Really helpful."

John opened the book again and placed it on the table before sliding it toward Brian again, "Yeah, okay. Is there sex?"

"Uh..." Brian said, looking somewhat confused as he adjusted the book to its original position, then looked back at John, "No, no there isn't."

"Can't be that helpful, then." John said, crossing his arms again and staring at Brian. His cheeks were turning red and John smiled to himself.

"Brian." Allison started, who had settled beside him on the couch. She had crossed her legs and placed her bag on her lap, "Have you seen Claire?"

"She was just here." Brian said, looking at Allison. John listened carefully as Brian continued, "She left for some sort of appointment. She might come back."

"Maybe." Allison looked at her watch then suddenly said, "I need to go."

Without another word she stood up from her seat and moved around the couches, leaving John along with a wide-eyed Brian who was staring at her leaving back. When Allison disappeared, Brian slowly turned back and swallowed. John could see how nervous he was and really wanted to take advantage of this situation but he also needed to get serious and get help. The only one available to him was Brian. John sighed and then leaned forward.

"I need your help."

Brian looked taken aback, "Uh...wh-what? You need..."

"I need you help." John repeated slowly with some impatience, as if talking to a child.

"My help? You-you need my help..." Brian said, leaning back in his chair, his face changing to something similar to smugness.

John narrowed his eyes and glared, "Watch it."

Brian paused, looked at him for a moment then sighed, giving up, "What sort of help do you-do you need?"

"Grades." Bender said shortly, ignoring the vulnerabilities he was starting to feel. He leaned back again and placed his hands behind his head, "I need to pass high school, and I can't without your help."

Brian blinked then slowly nodded his head, "I can do that."

John watched him, "Do what?"

"Help you with your grades." Brian said, still nodding, "I can do that. I'll make sure you graduate this year."

John stared at him for a moment, wondering if Brian was being honest. He didn't have much of a choice, did he?

"Okay." John decided. He stood and walked over to Brian. He grabbed Brian by his sweater and picked him up; he weighed nothing. He straightened Brian's clothes and punched him not-so-lightly on the arm, "Thanks."

"No-no problem." Brian said, rubbing his arm, looking more nervous than usual, "When, uh, when do you want to, you know, start?"

John thought about it, thinking of his work schedule. He had work for the next three nights, but that didn't matter, Brian could meet him at the bar. He always worked in the basement, anyway. That would mean he would have to talk to Tess. John was hoping his years of dutiful employment and his charm would convince her he could. He sighed.

"ASAP." John replied, looking at Brian. He paused, then, "Do we have any classes together?"

"I don't know." Brian replied, truthfully, not really making eye contact, "You don't attend class enough for me to know..."

John laughed out-loud startling Brian. It was funny, "We'll figure something out. I'll see you around. Here? In the library?"

"Uh, yeah...pretty much." Brian replied, shrugging his shoulders, "Lunch, sometimes, first period. I also have a second period, study hour. Here, I mean. I'm here during those times, the lunch hour, I mean, and-"

"I get it, I get." John interrupted, looking at Brian, amused. He crossed his arms then and said, "I'll find you."

John turned to leave and heard Brian say "goodbye". He lifted a hand and gave a wave as he strolled out, heading for his lockers. He had an idea of what his first period was, but he wanted to make sure. He was sure his schedule was in his locker, somewhere. He made his way toward a hallway, a wave of students moving out of his way so that he could walk through. He loved that. He looked up at the faces, noticing the various forms of disgust or fear. He looked around as he strolled into another turn and his heart nearly stopped. It was Claire, walking away from him.

He nearly called out to her but stopped himself as he watched her moving. John wanted her to turn around and notice that he was looking at her. He wanted her to see him, yell at him, smile at him, anything. She didn't do any of those things, though. Claire was walking quickly down the hallway and John watched as she turned a corner, away from him and out of sight.

Turns out, John didn't like that at all.

* * *

><p>Brian had never been here before. He'd never actually set foot in a bar at all before. If his mom knew where he was, she'd kill him, bury him, revive him, then kill him again. He made a face as he stared up at what literally looked like a shit-hole. He looked back at the paper in his hands to make sure he got the address right. He looked at the street sign then back at the bar. He confirmed it and slowly reached for the handle of the door. He made a face as he sniffed a strong air of piss and alcohol. The door opened creakily and Brian stepped in, a waff of cigarette smoke filling his nostrils. There wasn't many people inside, except for one lonely-looking guy who was asleep, or dead, at the bar, a cigarette burned out beside him on a full ashtray.<p>

"Hey." Brian looked up to see a rather endowed woman looking at him, her eyes narrowed, "You old enough to be in here, kid?"

"Uh..." Brian stuttered, trying to put his thoughts into words, "well, no, I'm not, I...heh...won't be for you know, four years, but I'm you know-"

"Get to the point, kid." The woman said impatiently, reaching for the ashtray and throwing the contents somewhere under the bar, "I haven't got all night."

"J-John Bender. I'm a friend of John Bender's." At the sound of the name, the woman looked back at him, suspicion clear on her face, "Does John, does he work here?"

"You're a friend of Bender?" The woman said, walking over to him from the other side of the bar, placing a hand on her hip, "You."

"Is...that so hard to believe?" Brian asked her, honestly.

"Yeah, yeah it is." The woman said, looking him up and down and giving him a small smile. She gave a nod, "Come around back."

Brian walked forward trying to find a way to get where she was, but didn't see one straight away and he must have looked like such an idiot, because he couldn't find that panel, you know the one, where you can push it open, or lift it up to go into the bar.

"Kid." The woman said, and Brian looked up. Her finger was in the air and she was gesturing a circle as she said, "_Around_ back."

"Ooh, I thought, well..." Brian started, then thought better of it, hitched up his backpack and walked past the empty chairs and the sleeping or dead guy at the bar.

The woman was already on the other side, holding the door open for him to squeeze in with her. She was wearing a face as if she had never seen someone like Brian before. He couldn't say he was used to that look, but he certainly got it a lot. Must be his quirky nature, he mused. He looked at the woman and she stared at him for a split second more before motioning toward a set of stairs that led down to a lower floor.

"Th-thank you." Brian said, giving the woman a small smile. She gave him a nod and with that, Brian followed the steps down until he found himself in a large room, the overall temperature slightly cooler. He didn't see anyone, "Uh...John? John Bender?"

"Yeah." Brian heard a voice and watched as Bender came into view from the shelves in the back. He was holding tools in his hand and heading over toward a table that was set up in the middle of the room.

"H-hey." Brian said, raising a hand. He saw Bender glance at him before turning back to a motor that he was now pulling the panel off of. Brian took a few hesitated steps toward him before stopping again, staring at the object. He could see a small fan inside, "What-uh-what are you doin'?"

"Maintenance." John said shortly, his voice slightly muffled.

"Ah, well, uh, do you want to get...started?" Brian asked.

"Yeah." John said, moving away from the motor and looking at Brian. He nodded behind Brian and said, "You can put your shit over there."

Brian turned his head and saw another set of tables with a few books and backpack on it. Brain slowly walked over and dropped his own pack on the table, staring at the books Bender had brought. They looked brand new. Brian knew the books he had looked incredibly used; the pages were bent and he had written in a lot of them. With pencil, though, not pen. Brian would never be able to erase it otherwise. He read the titles and saw Civil History, English Literature, and Advanced Chemistry. Brian raised his eyebrows in complete surprise as he read the titles of the novels; Shakespeare's Hamlet, The Count of Monte Cristo by Alexandre Dumas, and The Oedipus Cycle/Antigone, by Sophocles.

"These are _your_ books?" Brian asked before he could stop himself.

"That was what I found in my locker." John replied, his focus on the motor.

"W-well, how do you know they're yours?" Brian asked, not believing any of this. This was really advanced stuff. Honorary advanced stuff. _The hell?_

John let out an audible sigh and looked at him, "Because if anyone touches my locker they're liable to have their fingers or pecker cut off, depending on what they plan on doing. Get me?"

Brian nodded, suddenly remembering the escape from the library. To get drugs. Brian smiled.

"The hell are you smiling at?" John suddenly asked, giving him a weird look.

"Nothing." Brian replied, feeling his face fall. He cleared his throat then and said, "You know, well, why...uhm..."

"What are you babbling about?" Brian turned his head to see John wiping greasy hands on a red cloth he had on the table.

"Well, these books...they're..." Brian wasn't sure how to say anything without meaning to offend but it seemed like Bender understood what he was trying to get at.

John slowly walked over to Brian, his eyes narrowed as he balled up the red cloth into a fist. Brian could see John's knuckles turning white and was starting to panic. He could feel his heart beating in his chest, anticipating the worst, like a fist into his stomach or his face. No, Bender has never actually thrown a punch at him, just threatened him, which was enough. Brian hated that about himself. Brian leaned back into the table, unable to go anywhere as Bender moved closer.

John stopped less than a metre away and crossed his arms. He seemed to survey Brian for a minute before exhaling and saying, "You need to grow some balls, Johnson."

"...Wha..?" Brian stopped, staring at him. That wasn't what he was expecting. He watched John throw his red cloth on the table with his books and lean against it, still staring at Brian.

"Balls, cojones. You're too easy." John said, letting out a sigh. Brian was feeling far to surprised to answer, "Look, I need your help because I have trouble focusing...I have a lot of things going on up here."

Brian watched John pointing a finger to his head and swallowed, "...Like what?"

"None of your business." John said shortly, glaring at him. Brian closed his mouth and John continued, "How are you doing in shop?"

Brian blinked, thinking, "Fine, actually. Got an 'A', again."

John stared at him longer than said, "Okay. You help me get through this, I'll teach you how to throw a punch. Get some girls. Grow a pair. Not in that order."

Brian wondered if this was some sort of strange bait. Something was different though, John seemed sincere and before detention, Brian never had a genuine talk with this very scary person. It's true, Brian was scared shitless of John, but that was certainly a stereotype, a defence that John put up. Brian already learned Bender was just as vulnerable as Andy and Allison, Claire, it was just hard to admit and before that, see. Besides, Brian wouldn't mind learning how to beat the shit out of the jocks he had to deal with on a daily bases.

Brian slowly nodded his head, "...Okay."

* * *

><p><em>I have so much free time, right now.<em>  
><em>Review, please!<em>


	11. Chapter 11

_Whoo! School is over. OVER._

_...For now, I mean._

* * *

><p>"You <em>slept<em> with him?" Allison asked a little louder than she intended.

"No!" Claire hissed, her eyes looking over her shoulder as passerby watched her curiously. She glared at them as they walked by, another watching the two of them. Claire opened her mouth and demanded, "What?"

A tall, scrawny kid looked taken aback and raised his hands, palms toward them and claiming his innocence as he quickly continued down the hallway. Allison bit her lower lip and stared at Claire. Allison smiled to herself before glancing at Claire; she still held some sort of power over the kids at the school. Claire might have been dressing differently and her friends were changing, but she didn't seem to take shit from anyone. Allison had to hand it to Claire.

"Sorry." Allison said as she watched Claire turn toward her locker and rummage through it, "...So, you kinda slept with him?"

Claire gave her a look.

Allison pursed her lips, feeling amused, but keeping her thoughts to herself. The two of them were standing silently in the empty hallway, the day finished. Students and teachers had already made their way out the doors, ready to go home after an incredibly long day. It was Wednesday. Only two more days to go before another week had finished. Exams were starting to peek their ugly heads from their six month slumber and the workload, especially for the seniors, was piling up. Allison couldn't count on two hands the number of essays and books she had to finish and read by the end of next week.

"He doesn't even look at me, anymore." Claire said, into her locker before slamming it closed, startling Allison. Claire reached down for her instrument case beside her feet and straightened up, "No, 'Princess', or...'_Cherry_'..."

"You _want_ him to insult you?" Allison asked, surprised as she slowly followed Claire down the hallway.

"Of course not." Claire said, with a sigh as they continued on, making a right toward Allison's locker, "But at least he paid attention to me. Now, he just ignores me."

"I guess that _is_ weird." Allison agreed, frowning. Bender had a reputation; he was an instigator and _started_ fights, not avoided them.

"He's in some of my classes, too. Classes I didn't even know we had together." Claire said her voice softening, she then frowned as she looked at Allison and pointed, "You've got something on your face. Is that paint?"

Allison reached for her cheek and felt some sort of plaster and scratched at it. She looked at her fingernail and saw a bit of blue under her fingernails. She nodded, "Yeah."

Earlier that day, Allison was in the bathroom during the rush between classes. She had been in her secret art room busily working away. Her focus entirely on her painting, she didn't pay attention as she reached for a particular blue colour she liked that was only a few feet away. Allison felt her mistake and tried to reach for the falling unopened paint container but was unable to catch it. Not only did it spill all over her hands, but onto the floor.

Allison sighed softly to herself as she placed her hands under the flowing bathroom tap and rubbed roughly as she tried to wipe away the dried paint. She watched as the diluted paint mix with the white sink, silently enjoying how the paint swirled with the moving water.

"What are you doing? Hey. Freak. I'm talking to you."

Allison blinked, taking herself out of her trance at the sound of the insult. She looked up in the mirror and saw the funny-looking girl she had met quite awhile ago. One of Claire's old friends. The hell was her name? The girl was staring at Allison, a look of disgust and annoyance all over her face. Allison didn't say anything and returned to rubbing the paint off her hands.

"You're Ashley, right? Anna or Allison. What's your name?"

Allison didn't answer, her focus on her hands. She had managed to get most of the blue off, but now there were other layers of drier colours on her fingers and difficult-to-reach places, like under her fingernails.

The girl paused, waiting for an answer, but not getting one, she sighed irritably and continued to speak, "You're dating Andy, right? Is it serious?"

Again, Allison ignored the nosy funny-looking girl beside her.

The girl sighed, louder this time, "You're just ruining everything for him, you know that, don't you?"

Allison frowned at her hands, seemingly free of any paint now, but she continued rubbing.

"Ever since he quit wrestling, he's been miserable." The girl continued, "Don't you know anything about his family? His reputation? He doesn't have any friends and it's all your fault. Can't you see that? I thought he was your boyfriend."

Allison sighed and then glared at the stupid funny-looking girl, "Are you done?"

The girl paused, looking somewhat taken aback, but she settled on a look as if she had a bad smell under her nose and crossed her arms, "Excuse me?"

"You're that girl that has a crush on Andy, aren't you?" Allison started, staring at the girl's astonished face through the mirror, "Yeah, I remember, now, Claire told me about you. You've been after him since you met him, but he never showed any interest in you. So, for whatever illogical reason, you've decided to dedicate your miserable high school life in making anyone who happens to be on Andy's good side, either a zombie that would follow you anywhere so you won't bully them, or an outcast."

The girl looked completely astonished, her face had changed dramatically through Allison's speech, unable to formulate words in which Allison figured was because of the tiny muscle membrane most would call a brain.

Allison continued, "Well, news flash, it seems like no one gives a damn what you think. After this year, your existence in this godforsaken school would be as important to anyone as that fly sitting quietly in the corner of this bathroom. If you have something important to say, then say it, but don't waste my time because I'm already an outcast."

With that, Allison reached over for the tap, twisted the handle to turn of the flow of water and with a click of her heel, she walked past the funny-looking-girl who-has-a-crush-on-Andy and pushed the door of the bathroom open. Outside the bathroom, Allison heart was beating faster than she had ever felt. She thought she was going to have a heart attack. She looked at her shaking hands1 and noticed how red they were.

"Hey. You okay?"

Allison blinked, then nodded as she stared at Claire, "Yeah, I'm fine."

Claire didn't look convinced but to Allison's relief, didn't press, "Well, anyway...oh..." Claire had plastered a friendly smile on her lips and motioned slightly with her head, "Hi, Andy."

"Hi, Claire." Allison looked up and saw Andy nodding at Claire, then his smile widening as his eyes locked with Allison's. She grinned, unable to look into his blue eyes for too long without feeling herself blush uncontrollably.

"Hi." Allison said, softly, standing beside Andy and feeling shy.

"Hey." Andy said beside her, and she felt his hand reaching for hers.

Allison swallowed trying to calm her nerves as she looked at Claire. She could see Claire was happy for the two of them, but Allison also knew Claire was in no mood to watch any sort of passion Allison or Andy were sure to do, as much as they wanted to, anyway. The three of them turned away from the lockers and walked toward the main hallway.

As they reached the main entrance of the school Claire waved at them, looking slightly happier than before, "I have to pick up my brother from the airport. I'll see you later!"

Allison and Andy watched as Claire practically ran out the door.

"So," Andy said loudly and Allison looked at him as the two of them followed Claire, "work, today?"

Allison nodded, squeezing Andy's hand for remembering as well as some reassurance. They were now out of the entrance doors and there were still students hanging out in the front, waiting for parents, busses, or just talking. Andy had only told his coach and Paul that he was going to quit the wrestling team a few weeks ago, but word spreads fast in a high school. Stares followed the couple as they walked down what seemed like mile-long stairs. This was not an unusual occurrence.

Allison had habitually reached for her hood and placed it over her face. She could hear whispers and other things she couldn't make out, but none of it sounded very pleasant. True, the initial shock of Andy quitting and dating the high school freak had lessened, but that didn't mean the words hurt less. Allison stole a glance at Andy, and his jaw was tight, but his eyes seemed to threaten anyone who dared say anything above a whisper. Andy then let go of Allison's hand, making her panic slightly, but she then felt his strong arm reach around her waist and his hand squeezed her side. Allison felt Andy lead her toward the edge of school onto the sidewalk and across the street, the school and whispers behind them.

Allison often prided herself in the ability she had to ignore others, but when it came to Andy, she allowed herself to feel vulnerable. Why, Allison couldn't answer. That massive amount of courage that she had in the girl's bathroom by the art room had completely disappeared and she had fallen back on the timidity others often presumed to be an odd personality that sprung up dark rumours of worshipping the dead. Allison didn't act like it, but everything the funny-girl had told her in the bathroom hit Allison hard with every word. Allison was not familiar with the basic ritual acts of romantic relationships, she only understood what she knew. Which was nothing. It was all unfamiliar and the only way she would react was with an honesty she didn't often show others.

Andy dropped his hand and Allison heard him sigh. Allison pulled back her hood and frowned, looking back at the school.

"What a terrible place." Allison looked up at Andy, his eyes narrowed and his jaw working. Allison sighed, the funny-girl's words still ringing in her ears, "Still glad you quit?"

Andy shrugged and stuffed his hands in his front pockets. He sighed and looked at her, "I'm not regretting it. Just kind of tired of the bullshit."

Allison wasn't sure what to say, simply because whispers wasn't unusual for her, but they were for Andy. She knew Andy felt uncomfortable at the talks behind his back. Even the wrestling teammates Andy considered friends were acting odd around him, except, perhaps Paul. Andy was literally becoming isolated and his status was changing in the high school community. Allison also knew some of that blame could be placed on her. Maybe all. The funny-girl was right. Her words were not insignificant. Allison hated that girl.

"Sorry, Andy." Allison finally said, feeling a guilt rise up in her.

Andy looked at her, curiously, "For what?"

"For everything." Allison replied, simply. She shrugged her shoulders, not sure how to explain and for whatever reason, she decided not to say anything about the incident in the bathroom, "Maybe it wouldn't be like this if-"

"Stop, Allison." Andy said firmly, reaching for Allison and giving her a small squeeze on her arm, "It's not your fault."

Allison looked up at him, not convinced, "You've been hearing what people have been saying, right?"

Andy gave her a funny look, "Since when did _you_ care what people thought?"

"I don't care about _them_, Andy." Allison said with a sigh, feeling frustrated, "I care about _you_ and how it's affecting _you_."

"You're making me sound like a wimp." Andy said in a hurt voice, but he was smiling.

Allison wasn't amused, however.

"Listen, don't worry. They don't bother me." Andy said, reaching for Allison and giving her a tight hug. Allison wrapped her arms around him and closed her eyes, as she frowned into Andy's shoulder.

"I need to find Brian." Andy said after a moment, leaning in for a kiss, "I'll talk to you later?"

Allison nodded, kissing him again. She watched as Andy walked away from her and headed back for the school. Allison sighed softly, turned on her heels and made her way toward work, thoughts furiously swirling around in her head.

* * *

><p>Andy marched back toward the school, alone, this time. There were still students hanging about, but most of them were removing themselves away from the grounds as the sounds of cars and busses became louder on the streets. Andy turned his head as he crossed the roads, easily making his way past the unmoving vehicles. He was aware of the stares he was still receiving. What hurt him the most was the lack of support he thought he could depend on; his teammates, even his coach were almost to the point of ignoring him. He was happy to quit, but he didn't count on what might happen afterwards.<p>

Still, Andy had also realised he had an even stronger urge-to protect Allison. It was odd how fast the thought had occurred to him, and how very forceful the desire was. After meeting Allison, Andy was exposed to a level he had never known. He found he didn't like the way people treated Allison, he didn't like the way she was practically excommunicated from everyone else. He hated it, in fact. Allison wasn't...normal. She was unexpected with an unbiased honesty. She said what was on her mind. If she didn't like something, she said it, especially if she disagreed with Andy. That was probably his favourite thing he liked about her.

These thoughts loomed through Andy's mind as he made his way into the school, hardly noticing anyone else. He made his way into the library and found the corner Allison described quickly noticing Brian sitting at the table. Brian's head was down and a bit of his tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth, busily writing something down, just as Allison said. Andy smiled to himself. There were three other people that were silently working beside him but he didn't recognise any of them.

"Yo, Brian." Andy said, perhaps a little too happily, "What's up, man?"

Brian looked up at the sound of his name, his face expectant, but then his eyes widened and his mouth opened slightly. He did not seem at all pleased Andy was addressing him. Before Andy could say something about this, however, three other faces looked up at him. One, was a tall skinny kid and a girl Andy has seen around a few times- be couldn't remember where, perhaps in his classes. The last face he did recognise and his stomach dropped; it was Larry. What was worse was the face Andy watched change from passive indifference to red with increasing anger and embarrassment.

"Shit..." Andy whispered to himself, slowly placing a hand to his mouth.

Andy watched Larry stare up at Andy, then turn to face Brian, his face a mix of horrified shock and betrayal.

"What the _fuck_, Brian?" Larry said loudly and accusingly.

"...Larry-" Brian started, taking a quick glance at Andy before looking back at Larry and standing up, guilt clear on his face.

"Stow it, Brian." Larry interrupted maliciously.

Brian closed his mouth and ran his hand through his hair, nervously, as he slowly sat back on his seat. Everyone in the corner watched as Larry stuffed his books and papers and pencils messily into his bag, forcing everything inside as he muttered under his breath, angrily about Andy being the bastard that he was and about Brian, who Larry felt a double-crosser. Andy could also see tears falling down Larry's face as he talked. Larry wiped these away, forcefully.

Andy swallowed, feeling incredibly awkward, his hands moving to his hips. He knew exactly what he did, but Andy never felt the need to apologise to Larry. Why should he? Like everything else, it would be forgotten, but Andy never did think of what it might have done to Larry. Then again, why would he? He never cared before. Andy felt embarrassed _for_ Larry. Andy couldn't help but stare as Larry clumsily got to his feet, his bag still opened, his face still red. Larry then walked around the couches and forcefully pushed passed Andy, almost daring Andy to do something. Of course, Andy didn't.

There was a silence.

"I'll go find him." the girl finally said, standing from her seat. She gave Andy a look, before running out of the corner and after Larry.

"I...me, too." said the other tall kid, standing without looking at anyone. He stepped around the couch he was sitting on and ran after the girl, but not before giving Andy and Brian a curious stare.

Andy bit the side of his tongue, not sure what to do. He slowly walked around the couches, his eyes on Brian. Brian wasn't staring at anything in particular, one hand distractedly twirling his pencil, its lead tip held between his other fingers. He was leaning against his chair, obviously lost in thought. It wasn't until Andy sat down himself across from Brian, that he let looked up and sighed.

"Hey, Andy." Brian said, not sounding particularly pleased Andy had arrived.

Andy paused and blinked at this rather calm statement. Brian was now staring at him, his face strangely expectant, as if nothing had just occurred. Andy raised a thumb and pointed it over his shoulder behind him, unable to speak, "Uh..."

"He'll get over it." Brian said, shrugging his shoulders, slightly, "He's gone through a lot worse then you taping his ass cheeks together."

Andy swallowed and asked softly, "...He has?"

Brian nodded, dropping his pencil on his papers and letting out a sigh. He leaned back against the couch and placed his hands behind his head, "You're surprised?"

Andy felt taken aback. He wasn't sure whether Brian was angry and couldn't tell what he could possibly be thinking. Brian was...different.

"Larry has transferred from three different schools in four years." Brian informed Andy matter-of-factly, frowning, "This is his senior year and nothing has changed. The one thing he wants is to get through his final year without feeling the need to have eyes behind his head."

Andy felt something cold wash over his chest and couldn't say anything.

"He gets called a not-so-clever name, 'Ass-Tape' constantly, and is messed with in the locker room at gym all the time. I'm sure you're aware." Brian continued, sitting up and folding his hands as he looked at Andy, "Larry can't seem to have what he wants."

"S-sorry." Andy said, the only thing he could think of.

"Don't say sorry to me. Say sorry to Larry." Brian replied matter-of-factly, "You started it."

Andy raised his eyebrows at Brian, surprised. Partly because of the guilt that was quickly rising in him, but also because of Brian's lack of timidity that he often displayed in front of the rest of the school. It was almost unnerving how Brian seemed so comfortable in front of Andy; he made eye contact, and Brian didn't hesitate when he spoke. Brian was even blatantly blaming Andy for Larry's misfortunes. Andy had completely forgotten why he was looking for Brian in the first place.

"I'm assuming you need something from me, otherwise, why would you be here?" Brian started, changing the subject after a pause, "Right?"

Andy stared at Brian at a loss for words.

"I know you quit wrestling. Allison told me." Brian replied, giving Andy a small smile. Andy felt uncomfortable and shifted in his seat, feeling a pang of jealousy, but he overlooked it. It was Brian for Christ's sake, "Before we talk about anything, can you do me a favour?"

"What's that?" Andy asked, softly, after a pause.

"Apologise to Larry. And mean it." Brian said, "Get him to forgive you. You're still a popular guy, Andy. With you, it's all the better, isn't? They might even leave Larry alone."

Andy sighed and slowly nodded his head, thinking about it. If he was the decent guy he thought he was, Andy should apologise. Then he shook his head.

"I don't think I'll be that popular for long." Andy said, finally, almost sadly, "Wrestling was what made me popular. Now, that that's gone..."

"Well, is that really what's so important to you?" Brian asked him, seriously. "I've known Larry since I was ten. He's probably one of the most loyal friends, I know. Personally, I think that's more important."

Andy had to admit to himself that being Larry's friend was not the top of his priority list, but he needed Brian's help or at least, his support. Andy felt himself at odds, surreal odds, being in the position he was now in. The person he had often mocked in the past was sitting in front of him, calmly explaining Andy's faults and trying to convince Andy to do the decent thing. Andy never had to be decent. He never had to apologise for anything. He was respected and feared. Now? Now, Andy didn't know where he stood. Andy had also become convinced that if it weren't for Allison, he'd probably never be aware of his own insecurities.

Andy knew Brian was right, though, "So, where can I find him?"

"Here, once he's cooled off." Brian replied, leaning forward again and picking up his pencil, "I really appreciate this, Andy."

"No problem." Andy nodded, feeling something leave his shoulders. He looked at Brian for a moment, "So, how can you help me?"

"How are your grades?"

Andy shrugged, feeling slightly embarrassed, "They're okay. I only did enough to stay on the team."

"Now that you're off the team, you're going to have to do more." Brian said, looking at Andy, "Work, I mean."

Andy nodded, not liking how that sounded.

"You were on the wrestling team, so that can certainly help you in the long run, as long as you have a good enough excuse as to why you quit..." Brian narrowed his eyes and stared at Andy questioningly.

Andy didn't say anything and bit the inside of his mouth as he leaned back into the couch, crossing his arms. He was feeling agitated and uneasy.

Brian let out a sigh, then, "Andy, do you even want to go to college?"

Andy looked up at Brian. That was what Allison had asked him and he didn't really have an answer for her either. He didn't really know. What was college to him? Nothing, Andy decided. That was always The Plan; finish high school, get a sponsored sports scholarship, go to college on a full ride. Then what? Andy couldn't think of anything. He wasn't in sports anymore. The Plan was shot.

Finally, Andy just shrugged.

"Well, maybe that's something you should ask yourself." Brian said, placing his pencil back down on table and leaning back in his own chair, "College is expensive and can be really stressful, especially if you don't want to be there."

Andy suddenly had a thought of Gene Parisi from the gas station and shuddered, "I don't want to be working a gas station in a town I want to be as far away from as possible, either."

"A gas station?" Brian asked, looking confused. He frowned, "Look, if you're smart or a hard-worker and determined, you'll get far, but you're the one who needs to decide how much your willing to push yourself. Einstein himself failed out of high school."

"I ain't no Einstein, Brian." Andy replied, looking at him.

"That's not the point." Brian said patiently, "I've seen you at wrestling matches before, Andy. You really pushed yourself to be the best, and you were the best. You need to find that focus again."

"I had to be the best in wrestling, or..." Andy trailed off, not wanting to get into details again. He looked away and stared out the window.

Brian sighed, "Yeah, I know, but now, you have an opportunity to find out what you like and that determination to be the best again will take you far. You have the discipline, you just need to find an interest."

"The only thing I'm good at is wrestling. Sports. I'm such a loser." Andy said angrily, throwing fist on the cushion beside him.

"That sounds like your dad talking." Brian said, staring at him.

Andy knew Brian was right and regretted the words almost immediately, "Yeah, I know."

They sat in silence for a while. Brian was already focused on whatever he was working on before Andy interrupted him and Andy was sitting, staring off in space, wondering if he was going to turn into his father-angry, controlling, aggressive. He turned his attention to Brian, suddenly feeling curious.

"You're different, Brian." Andy finally said.

"Hmm?" Brian muttered, slowly changing his focus to Andy. Comprehension dawned on him and he nodded is head with a sigh, "Decided not to be bullied, anymore."

"How's that going for you?" Andy asked, feeling impressed.

"Some days are better than others." Brian replied, with a small smile. He shrugged, "After this, I'll be onto bigger and better things."

"College?"

Brian nodded, "Yeah. There's so much I want to do. So much I want to see. Can't do that if I stay in Shermer, Illinois."

"Lucky..." Andy muttered, folding his arms.

"You'll find something Andy." Brian assured him, "Don't let anything hold you back."

* * *

><p>Claire let out a sigh of relief as she made her way out of O'Hare International Airport and back onto Interstate 90. She took a quick glance to her right and saw her older brother, Emerson. His eyes were closed and his head was leaning against the back of her passenger car seat. Claire smiled, feeling happy. It was really good seeing her brother again. It was difficult for her to hide her excitement, and when she saw him coming out of the gates, she couldn't stop herself. Claire practically screamed his name and ran over to him, nearly tripping over her feet and almost colliding with him. It was all in good fun. Emerson had laughed at Claire's clumsy greeting and hugged her tightly, visibly happy she had arrived. Now, his heavy suitcases were in her trunk and back seats and the two were cruising toward his new apartment.<p>

"So, about this party..." Emerson started from his seat.

Claire turned her eyes on her brother before looking back on the road. She smiled, "Don't worry, it'll be small. Some friends of yours are still in town."

"Ugh..." Emerson moaned, making a small face.

"What?" Claire asked.

"Ah, it's nothing." Emerson replied, yawning and stretching, his eyes red. He rubbed them, "It'll be good see them."

"I can call the whole thing off." Claire started.

"No, no, don't worry about it." Emerson said, shaking his head and looking at her seriously, "I shouldn't be that way. I know they'll ask questions, and I'm not really in the mood to talk to them about that."

"Oh, about Brooks." Claire replied, realisation dawning.

"...Yeah."

"They won't." Claire said. Emerson stared at her and Claire smiled, "I asked them not to."

"That'll be a nice change." Claire's brother said, with a sigh of relief, "Speaking of change. What's going on with you?"

"How do you mean?"

"You." Emerson said, with a smile, "You look different. Your clothes. No make-up, no jewellery. What's going on?"

"Oh," Claire said, smiling, "I even started playing the violin, again."

"Really?" Emerson replied, his eyes wide.

The two of them continued to talk to each other until Claire managed to drive her car into Emerson's new neighbourhood. It was a rather ritzy area, the sort of ritzy area their parents would have lived in had they never had children. Claire parked her car in the appropriate spot in the underground garage and turned of her ignition, pulling her car keys out.

"We're here." Claire said with a smile, reaching into her purse for a set of keys and handing them to Emerson, "This is for you."

Emerson smiled but didn't offer a hand, "Thanks. Hold onto those, for now. There's a shit load of luggage in the trunk, still."

"Oh, yeah, I forgot." Claire said, dropping the keys back in her purse and reaching for her door handle. She pulled her handle and stepped out, her car keys still in her hand.

Claire walked around toward the back of her car and pushed her keys into the trunk's keyhole. With a click, the trunk sprung open and two large black suitcases were waiting silently to be taken out. With a grunt, Emery pulled out one suitcase and then the other and placed them both on the garage floor, echoes reverberating loudly around them. They were the only ones around, it seemed. Only a few cars were visible in scattered parking spots. Claire pushed her trunk down with a loud slam and reached for the handle of one of the suitcases. The two walked together toward the lifts, their suitcases rolling behind them.

"Bet you just want to go to sleep, now, huh?" Claire said, pressing the button of the lift. There was a chime and the doors opened.

"Yeah." Emerson said, not bothering to stifle a yawn (a cool woman's voice sounded throughout the elevator, "9th floor. Please keep hands and feet inside the moving elevator"), "I forgot how tiring travel can be."

"Hmm." Claire answered as the fast moving lift moved away from the garage and up the large apartment building. Behind, the elevator's window showed a spectacular view of Chicago. The doors opened ("9th floor. Have a pleasant evening"), and the two of them stepped out onto the wide apartment corridor.

"What's the apartment again?" Emerson asked, rubbing his eyes with a free hand as he followed Claire.

"918." Claire said. She stopped in front of the apartment door and reached into her purse. She handed it over her brother and smiled.

Emerson took it, smiling tiredly and placed it into the key hole. There was a click as the door opened.

"Sorry, Emery."

Emerson looked at his sister curiously, "For what?"

"Surprise!"

Claire couldn't help smiling at Emery's face turn into complete and utter surprise. He had placed a hand to his heart as Emerson stared at his small group friends that had gathered around him as soon as he walked in the door, all happy to see him. Claire reached for her brother's other forgotten suitcase and with her hands on the handles of both, pulled them inside the apartment and closed the front door. She made her way from the gathered crowd and followed the short hallway to her brother's room and rolled the suitcases in behind her. She could already hear the tink of glasses and the pop of a champagne bottle. Claire stepped out of the room and closed that door, walking back toward the living room.

Claire's brother was surrounded by his old friends, all of them talking to him rabidly and clinking wine glasses of red, white, or bubbly champagne. Emery was looking tired but very happy. He must have missed his friends a lot. Claire smiled softly to herself and walked slowly toward her brother.

"There she is." A portly woman, Shannon, said, her voice booming over the conversation. Shannon reached over for Claire and pulled her toward the rest of the group, giving her a big hug, "This is all her fault, Emery. We didn't even know you were coming. Why didn't you say anything, you naughty dear?"

"Surprise." Emery replied, grinning before sipping his champagne.

"You look dead on your feet, Em." Said another friend, Charlie, giving him a pat on Emery's elbow.

"I'm a little tried." Emery said, "It's been a few stressful months."

"Ah, Brooks." another friend, George, said knowingly. He gasped then and placed a hand to his mouth. Everyone in the room exchanged glances.

"It's okay." Emery said, looking somewhat amused, "I just don't want to talk about it."

"Well, it's a good thing, too." Shannon said, loudly. She moved her large frame around the counter that separated the kitchen from the rest of the counter, "James had made a wonderful meal and it is to die for."

"Oh, I wouldn't say that." James replied, sounding modest, but not at all looking it, "It's just a small thing."

"You must tell us about Washington, Em."

It wasn't long before the small group of friends, Claire, and Emerson were sitting at the dining room table, eating, drinking, and conversing. Claire was smiling so much, her cheeks were hurting. It was another few hours before people started to realise that Emery couldn't very much keep his head up, the alcohol not helping. One by one, the others left, wishing Emery all the best and demanding he keep in contact. Claire was cleaning up the last bit of plates and utensils from the table when Emerson closed the door behind the final guest and let out a large sigh of relief.

"Wow." Claire looked up to see Emery looking tired but pleased and she smiled at him, "I forgot how...lively they are."

"They're just happy to see you." Claire said, walking toward the kitchen sink and placing the plates on the counter beside it, "_We_ hardly communicated, and I'm your favourite sister."

"No, you're right." Emery said, placing his elbows on the counter and leaning on them to watch Claire, "I guess I have been neglecting my personal relationships...Thanks for decorating the apartment. I really like it."

"Anything for you." Claire replied, scrubbing at the dirty plates, "I've gotten into a new phase. I even redid my room. Mom hates it."

Emery sighed, "Thanks for not telling them."

Claire nodded slowly, "Yeah. It's got to be something you have to do, right?"

Emerson didn't answer right away. Claire looked up from her scrubbing and saw Emery lost in thought. His jaw was working before he finally opened his mouth, "Yeah. Eventually."

Claire smiled to herself and continued cleaning.

"So." Claire looked up as Emery spoke to her, "Tell me about this new style you've adapted."

"It's just a change." Claire said with a slight shrug, "Wanted a change. Make decisions for myself for once. Took a long time, huh?"

Pause. "I'm sorry I left."

"Not your fault." Claire said, turning off the faucet and reaching for the folded cloth to dry her hands, "I had to grow up, eventually."

Emery gave a smile, then yawned, "God, I'm tired. I'm falling asleep just standing here."

"Come on," Claire, walking around the counter and reaching for her brother, "Let's get you to bed."

Emery was already snoring by the time Claire had closed her brother's bedroom door. She sighed, feeling happier than she had in a long time. Her brother was finally home. She missed him so much, it hurt. She looked at her watch and realised how very late it was becoming. If she came home any later, it might raise suspicions. Claire gathered her things and made her way out of her brother's new apartment. She locked Emery's front door and walked down the hallway toward the lift and pressed the button toward the lower floor to the garage.

Some 45 minutes later, Claire was in her parent's driveway. She frowned as she parked her car, both her parents were home but so was another car. One Claire didn't recognise. She stepped out of her vehicle and slammed her door behind her. She walked slowly past her car and to the unfamiliar one. It was an expensive black sedan. A jaguar, Claire confirmed as she saw the hood ornament. Shrugging, Claire walked up to her front door and completed the ritual of walking into her home, but not before checking to see if her plants were growing. They were dormant for the moment, now that winter was on its way. She unlocked the front door and stepped in. Her eyes widening somewhat at the decorations.

Claire had forgotten tomorrow was Halloween. Andrea did an absolutely wonderful job. There were large candle-lit pumpkins on each step of the staircase leading to the second floor. Orange and black streamers were ribboned around the foyer and red and black candles hanging from the the high candelabras that decorated the ceiling. Claire was also reminded why her parents never decorated the front of the house. They hated children.

In the silence of the house, Claire's ears perked up when she heard low voices. Claire followed the sound until she reached the dining room toward the back of the house. She heard her mother laugh and the clink of glasses. Claire made her way down the hall and stopped short at the entrance of the never-used dining room her mother uses when certain special guests arrive. Inside, she could see her mother with a wide toothy grin, a bit of lipstick visible on her teeth. Beside her, was Claire's father, looking happy as well. Claire couldn't remember the last time her parents being in the same room and smiling at the same time. Although, they were not looking at each other but across the table toward a large man sitting on the edge of the seat. Three bottles of wine were on the table, two of them were already gone, the third nearly empty.

"Oh, Claire." Belinda had noticed her daughter first. and three heads turned. Edward looked over, his eyes unfocused, his smile drunk as he looked at his daughter and mouthed a "hello". Another man Claire had never seen before smiled and gave a slight nod, his fat face red from the wine. Claire frowned, not really sure about the situation. It was incredibly surreal.

A small smiled wavered on Belinda's face as she looked at her daughter's appearance but overlooked it and waved at her daughter to hurry to her side, "Come here, sweetie, you need to meet someone."

Claire hesitated, staring at her mother for a moment before taking a step forward and standing beside her mother, her eyes still on the stranger, "Who is that, mum?"

"That, sweetheart, is the Dean of Duke University." Claire's father interrupted, is words somewhat slurred. Claire saw her mother five her father a dirty look, but it changes as Belinda smiled at her daughter. Claire sighed and reached over to take the glass of wine out of Edward's hand. She placed it gently against the table, "Thank you, dear. James Taylor, this is my daughter, Claire Standish. James, Claire. Claire, James." Titter, titter.

The portly man gave a chuckle and lifted a hand toward Claire, "Lovely to meet you."

Claire hesitantly reached over and gripped Mr. Taylor's hand. There was brief shake and Claire retreated her hand, "How do you know my parents?"

"Oh, we've known each other for quite a while." Belinda said, reassuringly, before Mr. Taylor could answer, "Your father and James here went to Yale together, didn't you?"

"Oh, yes." Taylor responded with a nod and giving Clair a toothy smile, "As I understand it, you would like to go to Yale, too. Am I right?"

Claire blinked and this new information, her eyebrows furrowing. She looked over at her mother, a drunken beam in her direction. Claire then stared at her father who was taking a sip from his wine class, not seemingly aware of the conversation. Claire finally looked back at Mr. Taylor then at her mother, "For what?"

"Soliciting, of course!" Her mother screamed-laughed into her wine. No, she was holding a different glass, a rock. Mother was already on gin.

Claire frowned, then slowly shook her head, "No."

It was now Taylor that blinked in surprise and was about to say something but Claire's mother interrupted, "Oh, please, Claire, you told me only last week that you would like to follow in your father's footsteps, didn't you? You're so good at writing, right? And God knows you do enjoy a good argument."

"That was Emerson." Claire said loudly.

Her mother ignored this and continued, "You changed your room to such horrid decoration, it's a shame which direction you decided to turn to. It's a cry for help, I know it. And I know exactly what could fix it."

"What are you even talking about, Mother?" Claire asked with a sigh and feeling ruffled, "Stop putting words in my mouth."

"Claire, behave." Claire's father started, a small hiccup issuing out of his mouth, "We have company. You know better than that."

Claire sighed, knowing it was impossible to speak to her two drunk parents. Grinding her jaw in annoyance, she gave Mr. Taylor a curt nod and a "goodbye" before giving both her her parents a quick kiss on the cheek and turning on her heels to leave the room. Her mother was calling out to her, but Claire ignored the calls, her hands in fists. She quickly made her way up the stairs and marched to her room. She kicked her door open and stepped in side before slamming it hard. She made her way to her bed and landed heavily face-down into it.

_Who does she think she is? Who do they think they are?_ Claire fumed, _My parents? Not good enough. _This is merely to get back at each other. How? Claire wasn't sure, but she knew her mother had some underhanded plan. Claire's father was far drunker than his wife. It was obvious at the subtle insults Claire's mother often threw into general conversation. Claire couldn't remember the last time either of her parents hadn't insulted each other behind their backs.

Claire let out a great yawn, her eyelids closing. She felt incredibly tired and sleepy. She hoped Emerson was going to call her tomorrow. She also hoped to see Bender again. Claire had felt very hurt when she saw her small Tiffany earring sitting on the pile of neatly folded clothes. She understood exactly what it meant. Maybe it was for the best. Claire already had loads of misgivings, so why wouldn't the most obvious answer be the best answer? It still hurt her.

Claire had deliberately kept herself busy so she wouldn't have to think so much. It was the nights that were the worst because she had only her thoughts to accompany her. Her face still against her mattress, Claire reached for two pillows, shoved them against the sides of her face and screamed as hard and as long as she could. Out of breath, Claire shoved the pillows away and rolled on her back. She felt better, even if it was only for a few minutes.

* * *

><p>This was such a bad idea.<p>

With his friend's baseball bat gripped in one hand, John pulled himself out of the back passenger window of the moving car. Focusing, Bender gripped the bat with both hands now, and aimed for his up-coming target. Gritting his teeth, John pulled the bat back behind him and with a grunt swung as hard as he could. Hearing the satisfying crunch of aluminium, John smiled wildly to himself and heard whooping from inside. He started laughing as he watched the post box also fall to the gravelled pavement, and heard louder noises of joy coming from inside the car. However, the feeling of exultation was crumpled almost immediately and his regret took over. He shouldn't be doing this. This was such a bad idea.

John felt his jacket being pulled and fell back inside.

"God, you're so hot, right now." John turned his head to look back at Heather. Her eyes were twinkling and she was biting her lower lip, a mischievous look on her face, "Wanna do it when we get back?"

"Sure, babe." John said, pushing his hair away from his face from his face and smiling back, "Whatever you want."

"Fuck off, Bender." Harris said beside Heather and pushed John roughly on the shoulder, "You won't do shit."

"Don't worry, man." John replied, smiling at his friend, "No way I'm fucking a girl who's gone through all of Shermer at least three times."

"You are _such_ an asshole, Bender!" Heather yelled, appalled.

"Just being honest." Bender replied, just as he felt a strong fist against his shoulder. "Hey, man! Not cool."

"It's Halloween tomorrow." Matt said from the from passenger seat, looking over his shoulder, his red eyes on John, "Any plans?"

John had made plans, but that didn't mean he was going to be able to do them, but he didn't say anything. He shrugged his shoulders and said instead, "I have to work."

"You're always working, Bender." Kyle said from the driver's seat, "The fuck, man? You haven't partied, in like, months, man."

"Don't worry about it." John said, shortly, "Just shut up and drop me off at the bar."

"Still want me to pick you up?" Kyle asked through his broken window.

"Yeah." Bender confirmed.

A few moments later, John had stepped out of the car and slammed the door to the old corolla. John coughed as the car drove off, dark smoke littering the air. Bender watched the receding car for a moment, his hands deep in in his coat pockets, wishing he had smokes. He sighed before turning his back on the bar and walked away from it. John had decided he needed to keep up with appearances, despite how bad of an idea it was. If he didn't, people would ask questions. John hated anyone trying to pry into his personal life. It's none of their fucking business.

John certainly did have plans for tomorrow. He had planned on taking Mark trick-or-treating. That wasn't going to happen. He hasn't been able to see his brother in almost a month. At least, not legally. Bender managed to find a way to check up on Mark, at least twice a week and for only short periods of time. He had learned most of his neighbours schedules, he already knew his parents. It wasn't enough, though, seeing Mark only twice a week was not enough. What was bothering Bender even more was how healthy his brother was looking. True to her word, Mrs. Williams called her office and had someone come into his parents' house for surprise visits once a week and his parents were certainly keeping up with appearances. It was frustrating. John had more than once told Mrs. Williams he didn't believe Mark was safe, even when she assured John, he was.

John angrily kicked the side of a garbage can that was screwed to the ground. He managed to dent its side and the top went flying. Bender honestly didn't mean to kick it that hard, and the loud clang surprised him. He looked over his shoulder, not seeing any of the police, his panic lessened, but that didn't stop him from rushing from the area; there are always witnesses. He was all about bad decisions today. John wasn't sure what was wrong with him. God, he wished he had a joint.

_No, Bender, you don't._

_...Right._

John had other things to do. He continued walking, swiftly, wondering if he could possibly convince Mrs. Williams of somehow letting Mark be with him for the night. He had to be realistic, but what else could he do? He made his way down the road and onto the main street and started heading for the Williams's home. It was a long way and Bender had no idea whether either of them were home, but he had to do something to occupy his time or he'd do something stupid, like smash the pumpkins he saw on the stoops of all the houses. He sighed inwardly. He also had homework. He'd almost forgotten.

The list John had made nearly a month ago was getting more and more difficult to fulfil. He didn't realise the amount of loopholes he had to navigate through. First of all, yes, Brian has indeed agreed to help him. John had to admit, even, that Brian was a really smart kid and he was an excellent teacher. And yet, as much as John was trying to accomplish and managing to do, his teachers weren't giving him the time of day. Most of his teachers have decided that what Bender was trying to do was another sort of trick. What, John had no idea. How was doing all the work that was required of him be a way to get out of school? They were actually giving him more assignments than the other students, telling John, if he wanted to graduate, he had some serious catching up to do. It seemed the only one John was able to convince how serious he was, was Carl, then again, Carl knew what John was going through. Bender figured no one else had to know. He couldn't tell his friends, he didn't trust them. Bender doubted they even knew he had a younger brother.

It was also really hard to find a place to live. Yeah, John was 18, now, but if he wanted to start paying rent, he needed to show proof that he could afford it. That was a problem. Bender had been working at the bar ever since he could practically talk and Trish had been paying him under the table, first in sweets but now in cash. Bender has saved that money for almost five years. Probably the only thing his father had ever advised him on correctly was putting all the money he made into a bank. Unfortunately, all the apartments he's looked at required some sort of credit and Bender didn't have that. Not once had he used a debit or credit card. His first thought was to see whether any of his older friends were willing to have a house-mate for cash money rent. But John ended thinking against it; all his friends were tweakers and coke-heads. Not a good environment for him. The only places that were willing to even look at him as a possibility was in the red-light district, same places he was trying to avoid.

Getting a solicitor was probably the biggest joke of all. Det. Williams was sounding less and less sure about any sort of pro-bono willing to help John out, even his wife, who was often incredibly optimistic was looking unsure. Lawyers that might be willing to help Bender were looking for some money. Money, John couldn't afford. In all honesty, Bender was at a loss and he felt completely hopeless. More than once he was close to giving up. It seemed like Mark was doing just fine, now that he was being watched out for, from a third party. It's been a month and it was like the past few year of Mark's very short life never happened.

And yet.

And yet, something wasn't right. John could feel it in his bones, every time he walked past that house. The hairs on his neck and arms would prick up, a weird feeling in his stomach would crop up and he would feel the tension in his jaw. He would have to force himself from grinding his teeth too hard and remind himself that nothing was happening. Mark was okay. Hell, the whole thing might even be psychological-just a reminder of days past. It's hard to get past the shit he's been through.

And yet.

That 'yet' was enough to keep John on the same path he's been following ever since Mark was born. It was thin, but he had to continue. The days were shorter now, and the sun was already dipping below the horizon, slowly, but it was noticeable. Bender walked faster and it was another half hour before he reached the Williams's neighbourhood. He turned a corner and saw Det. Williams's old car sitting in the driveway and made his way past it until he was on the porch and pressing the doorbell.

There was a soft chime, a set of swift footsteps and the sound of a door lock clicking open. There was a creak as the front door opened and there stood Mrs. Williams, a blue apron around her skinny waist and a smile plastered on her face when she recognised who it was.

"Hey, baby," Mrs. Williams said, reaching Bender and giving him a tight hug, "Come on in."

"Thanks." Bender said, his heavy boot making contact with the ground inside the home, "Is your husband around?"

"He might still be the shower." Mrs. Williams said, heading into the kitchen. Bender could smell something wonderful as he followed her, "Have you eaten yet, honey?"

"No, ma'am." John said politely. Mrs. Williams was just one of those who deserved all the respect he could possibly muster.

"You're in luck, then."

John made the usual way toward the kitchen, standing respectfully and waiting for Mrs. Williams to give him the O.K to sit. He turned his head to see what the delicious smell was coming from. On a large hub of the stove was massive pot that had rice, various peppers, and what looked like meat.

"Go ahead and sit, baby," Mrs. Williams said over her shoulder, "there's a glass of milk and orange juice waiting for you."

"Thanks, Mrs. Williams." Bender replied, sitting in his usual spot and reaching for the juice. "It smells delicious."

Mrs. Williams made a noise of appreciation and continued cooking. John had already finished the orange juice and was now reaching for his glass of milk, gulping that down just as Det. Williams walked into the kitchen, his hands busy with a watch he was trying to strap around his wrist. Bender watched as he struggled, grunting in frustration. Mrs. Williams saw and went over to help him as he husband planted a huge kiss on her forehead.

"Morning, hun."

"Baby, John is here, remember?"

"Wha...oh." Det. Wiliams turned his head slowly his eyes wide in surprise, but quickly turned to a bit of annoyance as if Bender was a particularly aggravating fly, "Hey, boy. You here, already?"

Bender merely nodded.

Williams sighed and reached for his usual mug for a cup of coffee, "Where you stayin' at, these days?"

"Here and there." Bender replied light with a slight shrug.

"What is 'here and there' supposed to mean?" Williams inquired, reaching for a spoon in a drawer and placing it into his now coffee-filled mug.

Bender didn't want to answer. He couldn't answer, because whatever he would say was unacceptable. John had left his parents before he was 18, and legally, that would mean the Williams's would have to put him with CDC. However, they didn't. They let him off after Bender convinced the couple he had someone he could stay with. Now, this wasn't entirely false: Tess was giving him a place to stay, at least for a bit. The last thing Bender wanted to was overstay his welcome; Tess had a family of her own. So, Bender moved, from friend to friend, all his things fitting neatly in his rucksack. What he didn't want to tell the detective that his 'here and there' were also at his friends, friends that did drugs. Friends that he wasn't supposed to call friends anymore. If Bender got caught, there was no way the Williams would help him anymore. He was pushing his luck and Bender knew it.

"Gene, show his the classifieds from this morning." Mrs. Williams ordered, as she piled food onto three different plates. When her husband didn't answer, she said even louder, "Gene."

Det. Williams was fixing Bender with a very suspicious look over his coffee mug, but he didn't say anything. He reached over to his left and picked up a rolled-up newspaper and said, "Alright, woman."

Bender swallowed as the officer strolled over to where he was sitting and dropped the newspaper in from of him. John picked it up and saw thin pen marks circling certain sections in the newspaper. John followed the paper to the top reading the title "For sale" just as Det. William sat across from him. The mark circled various apartments and houses for rent, all of them asking for a room-mate and all, it seemed, in his price range.

"My wife, has been looking in the paper every week, waiting for just this. Time to get your damn act together, Bender." Williams, said, very sternly, just as Mrs. Williams placed the plates of food on the table. John turned his head to watch as Mrs. Williams reached for her plate and sat down beside Bender, a small smile on her face.

"Hey, boy."

John looked around and saw Det. Williams hard eyes on him, his expression serious and terrifying at the same time. He repeated himself, slowly, "Time to get your damn act together."

"Yes, sir." John dared to feel excited, even if it were only slight, he licked his lips as he looked over the circled homes again, and his heart sank. These places were in good neighbourhoods. Bender was a serial offender, petty crimes, and he looked the part. Who would give him the time of day? Most people would take one look at him and run. Something that he never tried to change, until now, that is.

Mrs. Williams seemed to be able to read his mind, though, and said softly, "Bender, baby, one day at a time. You're not alone in this and you can't think that way, not anymore. One day at a time."

Det. Williams made a snort under his breath, a fork in his hand as he shoved food into his mouth.

"Gene!" Mrs. Williams reprimanded.

"What?" Det. Williams replied, innocently after he swallowed quickly. His wife just gave him a look and he cowered. Sighing, he looked back at Bender, "I know some of those people putting up rooms for rent. I'll vouch." He suddenly put his fork down and pointed a finger angrily at John, "I better not regret this, you understand, boy? Answer me."

"You won't. You won't." John said, swallowing the amount of hope that was pulsing in his throat. He could hardly breath.

"Eat your dinner, John." Mrs. Williams said, "You look as if you haven't eaten in days."

* * *

><p>Brian's mother wasn't talking to him. It was oddly alleviating, and a bit surreal. He wasn't sure what to make of it. Although, she was certainly making it very tense throughout the house, not that it was ever comfortable in the house. Every time she walked in the room, every one went silent as she made irritating sighs, barking orders at his father and sister (besides Brian, of course), and slamming objects in any room she went in to. It was irritating to say the least and Brian found himself losing his temper more and more.<p>

He's never had that problem before. He always managed to stay, not calm, but unobtrusive, passive, meek, three things he found himself quickly growing out of. He would like to say it was all Bender's fault, but Brian had to admit, that it was time for a change and the decision has been made. He was growing up and Brian managed to be in a position to see it for what it was; at times lonely, but almost enlightening.

Perhaps, that was his mother's problem: she didn't want her first child growing up. Not that Brian could even talk to her about this. Neither of his parents ever seemed to be in a position to talk about anything serious; girls, bullying, sex. Sex was a big no-no. His mother made it out to be some sort of devil-incarnate recreation, which in a way can be (if one has a very religious up-brining), and Brian's father almost seemed embarrassed at the very mention or the word. No, no, it was impossible to talk to his parents. In any event and Brian's parents's hypothetical relief, he understood the mechanics, he read about it and knew about it, but the experience, well, that was where he was a bit hazy. The only person, surprisingly, Brian seemed comfortable to talk to about it was John Bender.

Bender, now, there was a mystery. Have you met anyone that was really smart but also really stupid at the same time? Bender was smart. He understood things quickly, and picked up on ideas, working really well with his hands. But he was so fucking lazy and this drove Brian completely off the wall. Bender understood something so he didn't want to practise anymore. This went on for several weeks, until Bender suddenly changed. Why, Brian had no idea and John had threatened to pummel him if he ever asked again. John kept himself to himself and Brian had to assume for good reason. He was scary. Brian thought, perhaps the only person that might get through to John was Claire.

That reminded him, Claire had a recital coming up and she had asked if he could be there. Brian wanted to, Claire played really well and it seemed to make her happy. He never knew she could play the violin until he saw her coming into the school one day, holding an instrument case in her hand. Brian had asked her what it was and Claire, almost shyly, replied a violin. She was different, for one she wasn't surrounded by her group of weird, loud friends. Second, her clothes. They were...normal. Claire didn't look as if she just walked off her father 70 metre yacht and on her way to a limo that would take her to a personal jet. Claire still had the illusion of self-entitlement sometimes, which Allison would often poke at, because surprisingly, she's the only one Claire never seemed to get upset with.

Allison seemed like her usual self, but she smiled a lot more and laughed. She still wore her over-sized hood, but she seemed happy, as well. She was meeting with the school shrink less, although, this could be for various reason. Allison never said much about it, except that perhaps it was necessary. Allison was still regarded as a freak, unfortunately, but she seemed to take this in stride instead of shrinking away from it, or encouraging it with even more odd behaviour. The name-calling had lessened somewhat, because Allsions was dating Andy but because he quit the wrestling, team, it almost seemed no one knew how to act around him.

The one thing Brian liked about Andy was his honesty to a fault. As much as he should have hated him, Brian liked him. Andy did apologise to Larry, but Larry hasn't forgiven him so Andy has to suffer for it. Larry hasn't forgiven Brian either, although he can't really tell why any of it is his fault. Andy was still quite popular, but as far has he was concerned, the only people he cared about was the wrestling team. He considered them family and they all but deserted him. They would ignore Andy in the hallways, sometimes, refusing to acknowledge him at all, and he found this difficult to handle. Andy was on a short fuse. He had wrestling to blow off steam, and now he has nothing. Allison was usually the one that could keep his head cool, but she wasn't with Andy all the time.

"Brian!"

Brian looked away from the window he had been staring though for the past half hour. He was sitting on his bed, multiple letters of university acceptance letters forming a circle around him. His mind had wandered from them, although, he couldn't remember the thought that brought him to thinking about his friends. It was hard to believe Brian was able to count the number of friends he had that wasn't on one hand.

"Brian? You up?"

His dad was calling from downstairs, his deep voice booming. Brian answered back, "Yeah?"

"Dinner, son."

"Coming."

* * *

><p><em>Yay, another chapter complete. Hee.<br>__Comments are, of course, welcome, whether I like it or not._

_Forgive me, loyal seekers. I did not forget thee, all true in mine heart._  
><em>Thine reading is complete, but fear not, for another page shall soon emerge,<em>  
><em>not with the lengths of previous, but with shortest time than before.<em>


	12. Chapter 12

The television clicked on.

**3:30 PM**

"This just in." said the heavily make-up wearing blond anchorwoman in red for the local Channel 6 News. She was serious and masking her disregard masterfully, "A fire has engulfed a three bedroom house on 38th street earlier this afternoon. Mike is on the scene and has more information: Mike?"

The screen changed from the woman's face to another man, wearing a heavy jacket and a carefully combed hair-do. Behind him was the smoldering remains of a house coming from its roof and broken, barred windows. A crowd was still there, as close as the police and firefighters would allow civilians to be, "Thank you, Susan. Around 2:00 this afternoon, a fire had broken out in this very house behind me. The fire has been subdued but a whole lot of smoke is still billowing out of the building. As you can see, firefighters are still trying to make their way into the house, but apparently, the house is just full of _stuff_, it's been hard for anyone to get inside." Mike's cameraman turned to face the house, black cinders unrecognizable, as he continued to pan on the street, the large crowd visible between the mess of fire-tucks and police cars.

Susan the anchorwoman was back along with a small screen in the upper right corner showing Mike's serious face equating Susan's, "Stuff? What do you mean?"

"Firefighters are not entirely sure, but what they're telling me is that this may have been the house of a hoarder which could have very well been the cause of the fire. Firefighters are trying to pick their way through, still unsure if their are any victims inside."

"There might be people inside?" Susan looking appropriately alarmed.

"There is a car in the driveway, and no one has come to the house yet, claiming to live here. With hope, no one was inside at the start of the fire."

"Hopefully, thanks Mike." Susan said, nodding her head. She turned back to look at her camera for the audience and shuffling papers she said, "We'll let you know as soon as Mike has more to tell us. This morning, President Reagan expressed his disappointment of the Supreme Court's ruling ban for the 'moment of silence' for public-school, and said he had 'an uphill battle...'"

**5:45 PM**

"Welcome back to your local Channel 6 news." Susan began looking very grave indeed, "Sad news tonight. Earlier today, around 2:00 this afternoon, a fire had started at a small, three-bedroom residence on 38th street. Local firefighters and police officers have just confirmed that a family of three have perished in the fire, Mike?"

"Thanks, Susan." Mike appeared then, his face serious as he stared into the camera, his hair still carefully combed, his jacket tighter around him, "I've just spoken with one of the officers and a family has indeed been found inside the house, a man, David Bender, his wife, Theresa 'Terri' Bender, and their young toddler, about the age of four or five, named Mark. The cause of the fire is still unknown, but firefighters believe it was intentional. Part of two to three portable gasoline canisters have been found throughout the home, but this is still yet to be confirmed."

"Very upsetting, Mike." Susan said, sighing sadly, her face dower. She turned back to her camera, her face still looking sad, "We'll talk more on this story when we come back."

**6:30 PM**

"Thanks for joining us again tonight on your local Channel 6 News." Susan said with a small nod at the camera, her face serious, "More information on the house fire that started around 2:00 this afternoon. Back with you, Mike."

"Hi, Susan." Mike said, his hair not so neatly combed anymore, another jacket over his previous one, his face long and his eyes tired, "It has been confirmed by firefighters that the blaze was believed to be set deliberately. Four canisters filled with gasoline had been found in several corners around the house, and most likely started in the kitchen. Fire investigators believe the gasoline was poured throughout the home and lit by a set of matches. It has also been confirmed the house was not that of hoarders as was previously believed, but for strange reasons, large items such as furniture and even a microwave had been deliberately pushed against the door entrances and exists of the house."

"Who were the victims, do you know?" Susan's voice piped up, shaking her head at Mike's screen.

Yes, David Bender and his wife Theresa had a long history of violent and domestic abuse. David had been subsequently arrested for drugs just last year. Theresa was a prostitute. Their son, Mark, who was five was about to start school this year. Tragically, no other family has yet to come forward. We've spoken to some of the neighbors, but no-one really knew the Benders very well. They did mention a another son that often came in and out of the house, but no-one has shown themselves."

"Where were the victims in this horrible scene?" Susan asked.

"It's very sad, Susan." Mike began, looking grave, "David Bender was found in the kitchen where the fire had most likely started. The woman, Theresa, was found in what looked like the master bedroom. The young child was found under a bed, inside one of the other rooms in the back, farthest from the kitchen." Mike's cameraman looked over Mike's shoulder and body bags could be seen rolling out of the house. The camera continued to pan, focusing on the sudden appearance of a small body bag, "As you can seen, local coroners are taking the bodies away, for verification and some sort of official end to all this. Susan?"

"Very sad, Mike, thanks." Susan turned away from Mike and looked back the camera for the rest of the audience, "If you do know this family personally or you have any information, please call your local police station. Any other helpful new regarding this story, contact the number at the bottom of the screen..."

The television clicked off and a phone's receiver was picked up.

* * *

><p>A funeral.<p>

It was sad and wrong and so very vilifying, because it was not true. None of it was. The small church was dark and quiet. Not very many visitors had arrived, most that did looked bored and annoyed. Everyone wore black, or grey, or dark blue. People were scattered in the pews, some faces looking around, wondering who else was there. In the front, three plain wooden coffins stood silently, two adult-size, one child-size. Three small wreaths of cheap flowers were placed carefully on each of the closed coffins, closed for a reason.

The pew that was situated in front of the coffins sat the only family member of the Bender clan. He was wearing dark jeans and a dark jacket, the nicest clothes he had ever owned. John Bender, a misfit who had finally decided to try and put his life together, get an education, get an apartment, get a job, to finally take care of his baby brother, the only person he had ever cared for. So deep was this nurturing instinct within his heart, he believed nothing could replace it. Everything was wretched out of him and his heart was broken. He was so close. So close. Now, it was gone. Anger he never knew he had was beginning to bubble in a blackened area in the back of a very dark mind.

Claire Standish, the princess, turned her head slightly, her eyes on Bender. His long hair was covering his face, but she shuddered at him, wondering what he was thinking. She was aware of his firey temper, but could not possibly know there was something else. She swallowed, nervously patting down her appropriately formal DKNY dress, feeling courageous. Carefully, hesitantly, Claire reached with manicured fingers for one of Bender's tight fist. John's face moved ever so slightly, but didn't look at Claire. Claire saw his hand loosen slowly and decided to entangle her fingers into his own. Bender didn't object. Claire had to admit her heart was fluttering, her stomach in knots. She wasn't sure if Bender would have accepted her touch or not, and was grateful he did. He closed his fingers around Claire's tightly and made no other movement, merely stared blankly at the coffins in front of him. Claire felt so sorry for him. Under normal circumstances, she would have expressed her condolenceson in the normal fashion, but this was far from normal. Bender was far from normal. Claire had decided she would be there for him.

Behind John and Claire was another high-schooler. Perhaps a friend. He was invited by Claire and John didn't seem to object when he arrived at the church. He felt uncomfortable. This was not his first funeral, nor was that the first time he had seen such a small coffin-it was a second for both-and he hated every minute of it. The only reason he was here was because his girlfriend insisted and he wanted to please her, to be with her. Of course he felt sorry for Bender, it sucks to lose anyone, especially a brother, but he didn't have to like it. Andy felt a pressure on his chest and saw Allison had placed her head on him, her body curled up beside him, her hand squeezing his tighter than what was normal. He kissed the top of her head softy in what he hoped was a reassuring peck, feeling Allison curl even tighter. Andy sighed, this wasn't about him, this was for Bender. Man.

Allison swallowed as she sat tight against Andy's strong frame. She could hear his heart beat fast, unsure why he was so nervous. Allison thrived in this sort of environment, her morbid fantasy often overtaking her every decision when it came to creative thinking. But this...this was different. This was a funeral of an almost personal nature because it involved a friend. Allison had never been to a funeral before, but this was not a fantasy, it was real and sad. Allison knew John since he was in kindergarten, she was aware of his family, his life, but it was an unspoken subject, a rule: and Allison was very good at keeping secrets. Probably, the only reason Bender never picked on her, always left her alone. She smiled sadly to herself and turned her head to look at Brian.

Brian was biting his nails, his nerves apparent. He had never been to a funeral and he was trying not to cry. He never wanted to admit it, but he was a very sensitive kid and this made him even more awkward than he usually was. He never knew how to act toward anything, except when he thought it was appropriate, which often seemed wrong. He wasn't nervous because there were three charred bodies in front of him, he was nervous because of Bender. John had told him everything; his plans, his personal goals, even his dreams. DREAMS. Bender never had dreams before. He was working so hard, studying, learning. In an instant the control John thought he had, the dreams so close within his grasp, gone, taken away from him, because of a selfish, narcissistic son-of-a-bitch. No, the reason Brian was nervous was because he believes John might kill himself, kill someone else, or both.

Carl was standing way in the back, his best suit on, his face dark, his eyes red. His arms were folded as he watched the scene, his focus on Bender.

"Hey, Carl."

Carl turned and saw an old and familiar face. He grasped the detective's outstretched hand and shook it firmly, giving him a small hug, "Really good to see you, Williams."

"Likewise, although, not here." Williams responded without a hint of humour.

"This is such a shame, such a fucking shame." Carl said, forgetting himself. He made a cross on his chest and kissed, a small prayer flicked in his mind, "He had it, Williams. He was there. He. Was. There."

"I know, man." Williams said, pushing his hands forcefully in his pockets. He nodded toward his own seat. His wife was sitting down, tears ruing down her cheeks, a white handkerchief soaked, "And I know because my wife knows. She took care of him for a long time, remember when he was a kid? Woman won't stop crying. She wants to help him. How? Who the fu...uh...who knows?"

Carl sighed, "He's going to need help. A lawyer. A psychiatrist. Something."

"You?" Williams asked, looking at him suspiciously.

Carl sighed, "I never wanted to go back to that life. It's been so long since I practiced, and defense? Never touched the stuff."

"It's Bender." Williams sighed, rubbing his hand over his thick mustache. It was usually a sign of anxiety, nerves, and deep thoughts, "I'll do as much as I can, you can, too. He needs to know he has a support network. Or my wife'll kill me."

"Yeah." Carl said, sighing again, not feeling the least bit tickled.

Carl looked at Williams, "You know he's far from stable on a normal day."

Williams looked at him briefly, "He's different, Carl, really different. He's calm, less attitude-"

"Before or after Mark's death?" Williams fell silent and Carl continued, "Was it David?"

Williams nodded slowly, "Yeah, forensics believes so. He was high on drugs, Terri was high on drugs. That poor kid-if he had just gotten out..."

Carl shook his head.

Wiliams broke the silence, "I don't want anything happening to that kid. He doesn't have anything to believe in anymore."

"Yeah." Carl said with a sigh, "We'll think of something, he just needs to believe that this isn't over. It's going to be hard."

A vicar now appeared, his face long and apparently grave as he slowly made his way toward his stand, a bible and a few notes in front of him. Car didn't believe the expression. He looked around him, others straightening, residing the end is coming. Finally. He motioned to Williams, and began making his way forward, sitting right behind Andy, Allison, and Brian. These kids, they haven't separated, they were still together.

The priest began to drone.

* * *

><p><em>Thought I'd try a new approach. Please forgive the late update. A lot has been happening and since I have less thoughts on my mind, currently, I was able to put this together. Hee.<em>

_Thoughts?_

_Also, yes, I'll admit, Bender's story is far more intriguing._


	13. Chapter 13

This was weird.

Allison was sitting very, very uncomfortably in the dining room. A room that wasn't often used unless there were guests, and even the guests had to be special enough to use the dining room table. Allison never liked the dining room, she found it to be ugly. It was a small and, as her parents called it, elegant room. Mirrors had been installed against the walls, to "give the impression of a bigger space", says her mother. A large china cabinet with various knick-knacks and cookware from various countries in the far east, "we must make people believe we are cultured", said her father. And finally the table. A large table that was bought at a yard sale, Allison's father had called it "vintage". It had so many scratches on it, her mother covered it in a large white table cloth making it look worse. Eight different chairs of various shapes and sizes were placed around it and it was presumed that Allison and her parents should be considered "eclectic"-a word Allison's parents often used to describe their daughter without feeling embarrassed by her behavior. No wonder guests never came to the house.

Allison was sitting in her least hated chair, simple and tall, but incredibly straight backed. She finally decided that sitting on the edge would keep herself from sliding off its narrow frame. While she was doing that, she was completely aware of her two parents sitting beside her, one on each end of the table as far from each other as the could possibly be on a table that sits only eight. Allison was never really happy (besides being with Andy), but for once, she wasn't feeling any sort of tension directed toward her. Her parents' anger was being vented toward each other. Allison had to hide her smile behind her long-sleeved shirt and just watch the two of them. She couldn't help it. She wasn't happy, she was merely amused and so very relieved. Hashimoto said that this was one of her defensive mechanisms, it was a way for her to relax. Allison didn't disagree-being in front of her parents and feeling relaxed-the whole situation was really fucking weird.

"Allison-"

"Honey-"

Silence.

Allison switched eyes between her parents. They were looking at each with such hate. Her father was leaning back in his chair, his arms crossed and his eyes narrowed. He looked as if he didn't want to be there. He reminded Allison of a child. Allison's mum, on the other hand, was leaning forward, a look of worry in her eyes as she looked at Allison, then her husband, then her hands. Allison's smiled widened. She was sooo uncomfortable. She wanted to run, run, run, and never look back. She wanted to hide. Allison didn't though. Situations like this-she needed to see it through. She had to.

"Honey," Allison turned to look at her mother. She was smiling softly, but it was faint, as if she wasn't sure how to smile, "Your-your father and I, Allison...we are...well,...we-"

"We're breaking up!" Allison's father suddenly yelled from his seat. He let out a great sigh, "Jesus Christ, Lisa, just fucking say it!"

"Alex!" Allison's mother gasped in surprise as she stared at her soon-to-be-ex-husband, "There's no need to speak that way!"

"Why the _fuck_ are you taking so long to say it, then?" He continued yelling, "It's a simple sentence, 'We're getting a divorce'. See how easy that is?!"

"Why are you yelling?" Allison's mom cried, standing now, "I want to ease her into it, not spring it on her. She doesn't need that. We agreed we would talk about this calmly and rationally."

"Oh, right, just like we agreed to and keep each other in sickness and in health, forsaking all others, being faithful as we both shall live?"

Allison's mother sighed and said softly, "This is different."

"How is this any different? We had an agreement then, we have an agreement now, it seems pretty logical!"

Allison had already stopped listening. She had hear them, they were getting a divorce. Allison looked up, and saw both her parents on their feet now, screaming at each other, their voices getting hoarse. Allison stood up slowly. As usual, they didn't even notice, far too busy in their own world, far too interested in having a screaming match. Allison turned and walked our of the dining room, turned toward the stairs, quickly ran up the steps, pulled down the cord to the attic, climbed the last set and with a slam, shut and locked her floor. Allison pressed her ear down to the opening and could just barely hear her parents still fighting.

Allison walked over to her bed and fell into it. She frowned. She wasn't sure what she thought about her parent's divorce. She wasn't quite 18, so at the moment she didn't have a choice on whom to live with. God, that was gonna suck. She didn't want to live with either of them. They were both awful parents. Allison sighed, wondering how long divorce proceedings go. She wished Andy was here, but she didn't want to call him. That meant having to go downstairs again. She turned her head to look at her clock. She yawned and her eyes blurred.

There was knock. Allison's eyes opened wide.

"Allison, honey, open the door, please." Her mother. Allison sighed softly. "I need to talk to you, it's really important."

_Go away!_ Allison mouthed.

"Allison, please. I know you don't want to talk to me, but I need you to. Please, Allison."

Allison hesitated and felt something in her chest. They way her mother said her name, it was different, desperate, pure. It wasn't like how she usually says it, with distaste and anger or embarrassment. Allison had a sudden flashback to when she told her parents she was quitting ballet. Her mother pleaded and begged. Allison would have none of it. That was the familiarity. Allison sat up, and sat by the edge of her bed. She was testing her mother at the point. Allison was sure her mother had left already. Did she? Her mother wasn't saying anything.

"I'll wait, honey. I can wait."

Lisa was going to cry. _Damn it!_ Allison thought angrily and pulled her knees to her chest, _Damn it. If she can wait, so can I._ Allison was stubborn and wanted to wait. She wanted her mother to prove to her that she could wait, have the patience to wait. Allison stared at her clock. She had fallen asleep without realising it. Slowly, she stood up and made her way over to her desk. On it, were her various sketch books filled with artwork. Most of it of Andy, but some contained cartoons of the friends she had made the past year. Allison knew she would treasure this.

She looked out her window; the sun was falling. It would be dark soon, and dinner time. Allison vaguely wondered what she was going to eat. She heard a door slam and looked down to see her father practically throwing a suitcase into his car. She watched him as he struggled to pull out keys from his pocket, drop them, and with intense fury, pick them up again. He looked as if he was catching his breath, or calming himself or something, but now, he fumbled with his hands and then with a long stride, deeply scratched the side of his ex-wife's sedan with his keys. Allison raised her eyebrows at this and continued watching as her father wrenched open his driver side door, slipped in, and with a screech, he backed up, and was gone.

Allison frowned. _What an asshole,_ but she knew that already. Allison sighed. She was wasting time. She's avoiding and that is what she should stop doing. Allison walked over to her attic door and kneeled down. She leaned over for the handle and stopped. _This is so fucking hard! _Allison took inhaled and exhaled ten deep breaths as slowly as she could. _Just do it! Just do it! Just do it!_ Allison closed her eyes and pulled back the door as hard as she could. She looked down, and there was her mother, her back against the wall, her knees up, and her hands against her face. Lisa looked up when she saw her daughter and gave her a faint smile, similar to the one before.

Allison watched her mother. She was wearing a simple white shirt and a pair of jeans. Her hair had been pulled back into a messy pony-tail. She looked different, wearing things she didn't often wear anymore, no jewellery, just a bit of mascara that was now running down her face. In one hand, was a black pen and in a circle around her were yellow post-it notes with drawings, sketches. Some had faces, others had scenery. Allison frowned then slowly pushed out the stairs that led to her room. She moved away and took her familiar spot to her bed. She needed to be comfortable. She felt for her jacket and pulled that around her, pulling the hood over her face.

Allison heard light footsteps, travel up the stairs. They were slow and hesitant, but there were not that many steps. Allison could hear her mother walking in and standing right by the trap door. Her mother let out a sniff, possibly to tell Allison she was in the room. Then nothing. Allison had to lift her head to look and saw her mother sitting right by the trap door, cross-legged.

"Thank you, Allison." Her mother whispered.

Allison didn't say anything.

"I wanted to talk to you about what was going to happen in the next few...weeks, months." Her mom let out a dry chuckle, "Years...?"

Allison waited, still peeking from under her hood and messy hair. Her mother not looking at her, but at the pen she was fumbling in her hands.

"Look, Allison, I...your father and I..." Allison's mother let out a loud sigh, seeming to have trouble putting words together. She toon in a deep breath and started over, "Your father and I are separating, for good. Which means, there's going to be a lot of changes. I...want...I..."

Allison straightened up and slowly pushed her hood down. She felt confused, but also surprised. She didn't remember the last time her mother was like this. She often seemed put-together. Albeit, aloof, but perfectly capable. It was weird.

"Do you have any paper?"

Allison felt taken aback. She narrowed her eyes at her mom wondering the angle. Lisa was looking at her daughter through red eyes. She looked sincere, tears were rolling freely down her cheeks. Allison wasn't sure how to take it. She eyed her desk where her sketchbooks were. Without looking at her mother and moving, what seemed like subconsciously, made her way slowly to her desk and reached for a sketchbook. She rummaged through it and pulled out a few empty sheets. She slowly turned and walked over to her mother and handed them over. Then, even though she felt her heart against her chest and lightheadedness, Allison took a seat on the ground across from her mother.

Allison's mother let out a sniffle and uncapped her pen. She stacked the papers neatly, placed them before her on the floor and began to draw as she spoke, "Listen, I know I..._we_...haven't been there for you. I can't and I won't imagine how difficult it must have been for you. It just wasn't fair."

Allison watched her mother working. She remember her mother drawing for her a long time ago. It was amazing how fast her mother was, and she was drawing in pen. It didn't look as if she made any mistakes as she continued. It was starting to look like a portrait.

"You know, I had this vision for you, I can still picture it." Lisa continued, her eyes down as she worked, "I saw you as this beautiful woman, who was happy, dancing on stage. Your father and I were in the audience, just so proud of you. And then you quit."

Allison frowned.

"I was so disappointed. I remember feeling so upset, so sad, that you stopped." Lisa let out a quavering breath and continued to speak, "I didn't know what to do, then. You know, when you were born, I had made the decision to be one of those cool mothers, you know, the ones that will support their kids with whatever choice they wanted. I tired to, I tried so hard. But I couldn't do it. I was stuck between a decision I made, a promise to myself, and how happy I thought would be if you stuck it out. So, I did the unthinkable, I ignored my own child."

Allison saw tears falling onto the drawing in large blotches. The ink was running, but her mother didn't seem to care. Allison waited, her frown deepening. She didn't know what to say.

"I know, right now, I'm feeling sorry for myself because I was a...shitty, shitty parent. But I want to try...I want to work it out with you, Allison. I want your permission. I want you...I want my daughter back. I want you to tell me it's not too late for me. Please."

Allison was silent. She wasn't sure what to say. Her eyes were focused on the drawing, and she could almost make it out. She heard her mother, and wasn't deliberately ignoring her mother, not as usual. It was the most sincere conversation she ever had with her mother, her mum.

Lisa let out a small chuckle and pushed her drawing toward her daughter, "Here. I've always loved you, even if I didn't show it as much as I should have. I'm just so sorry."

Allison hear her mother let out a few sniffles and sigh as she stood up. Allison reached for the drawing and stared at it. It was a portrait of her, when she was a ballet dancer on stage. There was a small swan in the background, the last production Allison was ever part of. This was based on a photograph her parents had taken so long ago. It was really good. And Allison thought the girl in the drawing looked really happy.

There was a sound of retreating footsteps and Allison looked up. Her mother was leaving. Then she turned suddenly, "Oh, just so you know, we're having macaroni and cheese, tonight."

Allison blinked at this That was her favourite meal. "Wait, Moth...mum." Allison started before she could stop herself.

Lisa turned and looked at her daughter, almost hopefully.

Allison swallowed, then said very, very softly, "Y...you look really pretty."

Lisa let out a gasp and gave Allison a smile, a sincere smile. She swallowed and whispered, "Thank you."

* * *

><p>"Fuck you, Sport-o!"<p>

"I'm only trying to help, Bender!" Andy yelled back, his temper reaching its highest point, "Stop being a fucking asshole!"

"I didn't ask for your goddamn fucking help!" Bender screamed, his hands in fists. He was red in the face and his eyes were bulging.

"Well, guess-fucking-what? You are getting my goddamned help because whatever fucking reason, Allison is still your friend and she fucking asked me to help. So, I'm gonna fucking help."

"Oh, Allison, she's got you wrapped her little finger, too." Bender started, his face in a maniacal look, an insane smile forming in his lips, "What else is getting you do? How about fucking? What's that like, or is she keeping you from doing that? Huh, what's she like by the way?"

Andy ran over to him and threw a punch right into Bender's cheek. Bender twirled and landed on his stomach on the ground, "Shut the fuck up, you fucking asshole! Don't you ever talk that way about Allison ever again, you sick fuck!"

Bender was laughing from the floor, a hand over his mouth. Andy watched as she stood up, his mouth and nose bleeding. Without warning, Bender dived, shoving Andy down to the ground. Andy felt Bender position himself on his chest and start feeling a fist make contact with his face. Andy grunted and hard as he could he shoved Bender off, punching him hard in the chest. Bender let out a grunt, falling back and for good measure, Andy shoved his foot into Bender pushing him back, even further. Bender began to cough and Andy took the chance. He dove for Bender again, his arms around Bender's neck. With his legs, he reached around and pinned Bender to the ground. Bender was strong but he had no skill at all. Andy, grunted as bender tried to get out. He was stubborn, but Andy could feel him tiring.

"It's all that smoking you do, buddy." Andy grunted.

"Shut up, you fucking twat." Bender said with a gasp.

"Just say when, buddy. I can do this all day."

"Never...you...fuck."

"O-kay." Andy said, feeling very arrogant and squeezed just a little bit tighter.

"Alright! Alright!" Bender finally yelled, "Get off me! Get off, you fu-! Get off!"

Andy let go and quickly rolled away. Bender stood up as well, coughing, pushing Andy away hard on the chest, but he didn't do much else. Andy watched Bender push his hair out of his face and take in a deep breath. He let out a sigh and wiped the blood and sweat from his nose.

"What the hell is going on here?"

Both Andy and Bender looked up and could see Tess by the foot of her bar's basement. Her eyes were wide and she looked pissed, "What the hell are you two doing? I know it's a busy night, but I can hear you over the terrible singers on the stage. And what the hell happened to your face, John?"

"Nothing, Tess." Bender said quickly, quickly wiping his nose again with the red cloth in his back pocket. "Everything is okay."

"It better fucking be." Tess warned. With one last look, she turned around and climbed back up the stairs.

There was silence. Andy watched as Bender turned, sniffing, his kerchief still in his mouth. Andy felt something wet falling down his lips and wiped it away, it was blood. Andy let out a small chuckle.

"You got me good."

Bender threw a cloth at him and Andy caught it, surprised. He reached for his nose and wiped away the blood.

"I could've clocked you." John mumbled.

"And I'm having a feeling of déjà vu." Andy said, walking over to him but giving him a wide berth, "I think I won that one, too."

"Shut up, Sport-o." Bender said, wiping his nose, "Fuck, where is all this blood coming from?"

Andy sniffed and dropped his cloth. He sighed.

"...What?" Bender asked shortly.

"Claire's worried about you, you know."

Bender made a noise somewhere between a snort and a sigh. He gave out a slight shrug, but he didn't seem to mean it.

Andy went on, "I wanted to talk to you."

Bender didn't say anything, merely crossed his arms, and looking away.

"I kind of know what you're going through."

Bender was pissed. He rounded on Andy and sneered, "How the fuck, would you know, what I'm going through? Fuck you."

"Shut up and listen before I break your goddamned throat." Andy said, not backing down. Bender stared at him angrily but said nothing, crossing his arms.

Andy took in a deep breath and let it out slowly, "I had a younger brother, Ryan. He was six when he passed. I remember that day. It was normal, like every other day. Parents were leaving for work, I was leaving for school. It was a complete accident. Ryan was running down the hallway from his room and he fell. Slipped on some toys or something and he fell down the stairs, broke his neck. It was so sudden. No one really knew what happened right away. My dad came running out screaming about not running dow the stairs. My mom came out right after. I left the door opened to see. I watched him fall, Bender. I was there. I saw the whole damn thing. It was like, like a dream, you know? I didn't believe it. Then my mother screamed and everything came right in front of me. The sight of seeing my brother slip, him falling, him landing harder. I heard this...crunch."

Bender was silent, but that's okay. Andy had turned, feeling tears in his eyes. He hated remembering this. He hadn't even told Allison yet.

"What happened?" Andy heard Bender ask.

"It sucked. A funeral. My parents were never the same again. Everything was kinda a blur, you know?" Andy let out a sigh, "I don't like talking about this."

More silence.

"You're a fucking baby." Bender said.

Andy turned to stare at Bender, not believing what he heard, "What?"

Bender narrowed his eyes, glaring at Andy, his hands in fists, "My brother was killed. My father _murdered _him. He fucking _killed_ his own son. Do you know what that's _fucking_ _like_?"

"No, I don't." Andy said, feeling surprisingly calm.

"No, you fucking don't. You can't." Bender grabbed his bloody cloth again and wiped his face with it, but it was his eyes. He was crying.

_Holy shit._ Andy walked over to the cooler and opened it, pulling out two beers. He placed it on the table Bender was leaning against waited. Bender picked it up and popped open the top. He placed the bottle against his lips and gulped large gulps before putting it back down. He let out a sigh, "That was awful."

Andy chuckled and drank from his own, noticing something on Bender's arm. There were new scars there, over older ones. They were deep. Andy wanted to say something but he wasn't sure how to approach it.

"Yo, Bender." Andy said, scratching the back of his head, "You gonna ignore Claire, or what?"

"None of your business." Bender replied, drinking from his bottle again, "She ain't my fucking girlfriend."

"It is if she's crying to me about it." Andy said looking at him. Bender looked at him from the corner of his eye. Andy knew that would get him, but not enough to rile him. Andy tried again, "You know, her locker's getting full of all sorts of love letters. She's pretty popular, you know. With prom coming and all."

"Fuck you, Clark." Bender said, leaning against the table and looking at him, "She can do whatever the fuck she wants. Maybe afterwards she'll be open to other things, you know?"

"God, you're an asshole." Andy said, feeling disgusted.

"You know it." Bender replied, smugly. The two fell into into silence. "So, why the fuck are you here?"

"I told you already." Andy said, looking at him, "To help."

"With what?"

"Whatever you need."

"Why the fuck would you care? We're not friends."

"No, but I like Allison. Hell, I love her." Andy said out-loud. Andy surprised himself, then thought about it. He smiled to himself, _Yup, I love Allison._

Bender raised his eyes at him, "What?"

Andy nodded his head slowly, not feeling embarrassed at all. _Whoa._ "Yup. If she asked me to help you as much as I could. I'll do it."

Bender laughed out loud but didn't say anything, then he looked down at his bottle. Seeing it was empty he walked over and fetched two more. He threw a bottle at Andy, which he caught and opened. Before the two knew it, they had been downed about four bottles in silence. They were getting drunk quickly, but Andy found himself laughing at absolutely nothing with John Bender. It wasn't until their sixth beer when Bender began to speak again.

"Tried to kill myself." Bender said groggily.

Andy swallowed and looked at him. He felt drunk as well, but he was listening. He took a sip.

"It's not the first time." Bender continued, softly, his voice barely audible. He lifted up one of his arms and showed Andy his scars, "Ha, my own tattoos."

Andy said nothing.

Bender let out a sigh, "I hated my parents. The only thing that kept me going was Mark. I don't have anything left, now. I don't have anything to live for. I don't know what to do."

Andy kept his mouth shut. John Bender was incredibly vulnerable and the only thing Andy could do was listen.

"I hate everyone. Everyone." Bender said, then shook his head, "No, not everyone..."

Andy saw Bender falling forward and caught him. Bender was trying hard to keep his eyes open but having trouble. Andy sighed, feeling tipsy himself, but with a grunt, pulled one of Bender's arms over his head and led him over to the sleeping bag that was on the floor. Bender fell to the ground and sighed as he snuggled his pillow. Andy shook his head and sighed.

"Hey."

Andy looked up and saw Tess making her way over to him. She nodded at Bender, "How is he?"

"Drunk. And depressed." Andy said, letting out a yawn.

"I'll take care of him." Tess reached for the blankets behind her and placed them over Bender, "Thanks. He needed someone."

"Sure." Andy said, reaching for his jacket. He paused as he looked at Tess tucking Bender in, "You know he tried to kill himself."

Tess stood up straight and stared at him, "He lost his entire family. I'm not surprised."

Andy stared at her, sobering up quickly, "He has recent scars."

"I know." Tess said, seriously, "I'm keeping an eye on him. But he'll do what he wants, I can't stop him."

"Are you serious?" Andy asked her, astonished, "You're..just going to, what, let him?"

Tess sighed and placed her hands on her hips defiantly, "This is not the first time he's tried, kid. It won't be the last. He feels lost and forgotten. I can do what I can, but I have my own child to worry about."

Andy shook his head and narrowed his eyes, "Didn't know you were such a bitch."

"Excuse me?" Tess asked, she was angry, "You better get the fuck out of here before I kill you where you stand. Who the fuck are you to call me anything?"

Andy shrugged his shoulders and started toward the stairs to the bar, "Just thought you would be a better friend, that's all. I do, and I don't even like the asshole."

"Get the fuck out of here!"

"Sure." Andy said with a shrug, "Hope saying that makes you feel better."

* * *

><p>Claire knocked on the door of her brother's apartment.<p>

Emerson opened the door with a bright smile on his face, "Hey, I'm glad to see you."

"Hi." Claire said, smiling and giving her brother a hug and stepping inside.

"How're you doing?" Emerson asked as he closed the door. He placed his hands in his pocket and looked at Claire, a small smile on his face.

"Everything sucks." Claire bit her lower lip and made her way to the kitchen counter. She placed her bag on the surface and sat on the bar stool.

Emerson chuckled, "Well, I can see that. What's wrong?"

Claire didn't want to sound whiny, but it came out anyway, "I really, really like someone but he refuses to acknowledge me."

Emerson laughed and walked over to sit opposite his sister, "That's all?"

"It's John Bender." Claire said with a sigh, leaning against her elbows.

Emerson's eyes widened, "That kid whose whole family died in the fire?"

Claire nodded, "Yup. It's weird. I care about him a lot. But he won't give me the time of day. He won't let me help him. He's been ignoring me."

Emerson frowned, saying nothing, then, "Maybe he doesn't want help."

"It's not the first time he's turned me away." Claire shrugged her shoulders, "I kinda forced myself into his life. But this time it's different. He lost his entire family. His _father_ _killed_ his entire family. Bender loved that little boy, Mark. He's got nothing, now. I don't know how to help him."

Emerson didn't say anything.

Claire looked at her fingers and nervously picked at them, "You know, I didn't even know he had a little brother until recently. He just, won't say anything to me. I don't even know where he is!"

"Maybe that's all he needs." Emerson said, looking at her seriously, "I've been through tough cases like this: I've tried them, I've defended them. It's always hard on the child, no matter how old. He needs a support group, but it's entirely up to him whether he'll take it or not. Oftentimes, it take an extra push. There's going to be a lot of fighting, a lot of hurtful words, and it won't be easy. It really depends on how stubborn he is and what sort of patience his friends have. He just needs to be reminded, really. It's never easy."

Claire nodded her head slowly. Would she have the patience? During the funeral, he never looked at her, just held her hand. Then abruptly, he left without saying anything to anyone. Before she knew it, he was gone without a trace. Even Williams didn't see him leave, or Carl and they were both close by.

She swallowed, "Why do you work on kids cases if it's so hard?"

Emerson gave her a small, unamused smile, "I like kids. I'd like to help them. Most of them are innocent, brave, and completely helpless. I wanted to do whatever I could to help them."

"I wish you knew Bender a few years ago."

"I was still studying, then. Figuring out my life." Emerson said with a sigh, "I wish I knew him, too. He wouldn't have been in this position."

Silence.

Claire looked at him, "Mum and Dad must know you're here."

"Yup." Emerson looked at his sister and shook his head, "They haven't said a word to me. Don't know how I feel about that."

"Lucky?" Claire said.

Emerson laughed, "Sure, that could be one."

They bother laughed.

"So, little sister. Know what you're going to do with your life?"

Claire shook her head, "I thought I was going to college, maybe study literature. But I don't know anymore. I picked up the violin, again."

"I know." Emerson with a smile, "I wanna hear you play."

"Sure." Claire said. She chucked, "Maybe, I'll be a musician."

"I know you can do it."

Claire later left her brother apartment, still feeling unsatisfied. She walked over to her car when she spotted a phone booth. She licked her lips then headed over to it, dialing Andy Clark's number. "Come on." Claire said impatiently, while the phone rang. After a fourth ring, a familiar voice answered it.

"Hello, Clark's residence?"

"Andy! It's Claire."

"Yo."

"Hi, uhm...would you...happen to know where Bender is?"

"Bender? Yeah, at the bar. I guess he's staying there."

"What bar?"

"Is that shit-hole on the - of - w-t and 50th."

"Wait, say that again? You're breaking up."

"The - of 10- -st and -th."

"Corner of 10th Street West and..what?"

"50th."

"10th Street West and 50th."

"Yup."

"Okay."

"Wait, Claire, are you g-g to go see him?"

Claire hesitated, "I was thinkin' about it."

Andy hesitated.

"What? Tell me, Andy."

"I don't know...just. Be careful."

"Why?"

"Look, he's really...he's not good. Do you...do you want me to come with you?"

"...Should you?"

"I don't know."

Claire bit her lower lip, "I'll be fine. Promise. And, you'll know where I am."

"Yeah...okay."

"Okay, bye."

"Later."

Claire hung up and walked over to her car. Andy's words made her nervous, but she was determined. She sighed as she reached for her keys,m ignoring the weird sensation in her stomach and chest. She felt like she was going to throw up, but kept it down. She started up her car and drove out of the garage. She made a right and headed for the 10th street West. She hoped she would find it soon. She wasn't sure what bar she was looking for, but she remembered the woman who ran it; her name was Tess. Claire did find it. She drove her car into the pot-hole infested parking lot and stepped out, closing her car door with a slam. She swallowed and looked around, feeling nervous. She was hardly 18, she wasn't allowed in there. Claire took in a deep breath and started walking toward the door. She was about to reach the handle when it opened. Claire jumped as a man, clearly drunk, stepped out. He seemed out of focus and didn't see Claire standing there. He stumbled passed her, unsteady on his feet and pulled down his trousers. Clair made a face and focused her attention on the door. She turned it and stepped inside.

It was quiet, there was some soft music playing overhead and only one man sitting at the bar. Tess saw a woman bending down under the bar for something. Claire walked over to her and cleared her throat. The woman straightened up and shot Claire a nasty look. Claire recognised the woman, she was at the funeral.

"Jesus Christ, another one. What the hell do you want?"

"Are you Tess?" Claire asked nervously.

The woman didn't say anything.

"I'm looking for John Bender. Is he...is he here?"

Tess narrowed her eyes then, "He ain't here."

"He isn't?" Claire asked surprised, "Where did he go?"

"How the hell should I know? I ain't his keeper!" The woman said, bending down again, "He just packed all his shit and left."

Claire blinked wondering what to do now, "Don't you care where he goes?"

Tess slowly straightened up and turned around to face her, "Of course I fucking care! I've know that kid since he was a little boy. Of course I fucking care where he is!"

"So, why don't you know?" Claire yelled back, her temper flaring. Her nerves were completely gone, now, "Where is he?!"

"I don't know! God, I don't know!" Tess screamed, her eyes filling with angry tears, "He's just gone! He left in the middle of the night. There, you fucking happy?!"

Claire exhaled and shook her head, "Fine. I'll go and find him myself."

* * *

><p>Bender was hiding. It was a favourite thinking spot for him. He came her often, skipping school, skipping home. It was solitude and possibly where he made his best friends. Granted, most of them were high, or homeless, but they had good conversation. His rucksack and his sleeping bag were folded neatly beside him as he wondered what he was going to do next. Bender stared at his arm, fingering the scars he made. They were deep, too deep. Some were close calls and he remembered every single one of them. He wondered vaguely if he was doing it for attention. Maybe. It wasn't until Mark did he stop. Now, that feeling was coming back to him again, the feeling of loneliness; him against the world, type shit. He felt like a coward every time he thought about it. He felt as if this was just way to fucking easy. He imagined himself dying from something stupid, like falling off a tower, or pushed into an oncoming train. It was tragic, but at least he wouldn't be at fault. Bender shrugged. Mark was what he lived for, now Mark was gone. What was the point?<p>

Bender stood up, feeling the cold around him. He wrapped himself into his coat more and reached for his bags. He began to walk. He wasn't sure where he was walking too, but he kept moving because it kept his mind occupied. He continued walking, his thoughts on various things. Nothing he wanted to concentrate too much on. Perhaps the only good thing about this, that because his entire family died, Bender was going to pass high school, with straight A's. Bender stopped where he was standing and laughed. It was humourless and maniacal. He laughed so hard, his stomach began to cramp up and he fell to his knees. He couldn't stop, even when he felt tears in his eyes.

There was a sudden car horn.

"SHUT THE FUCK UP!" Bender yelled, startled at the sound. He found himself laughing in the middle of the street. A car had stopped suddenly, finally seeing a person in their way.

Bender stood up, showing his tall frame and walked to the driver's side. Before he could do anything, the man in the car had pressed down the accelerator and zoomed passed him. Bender grinned. _It's the little things in life._ Bender continued walking and found himself in front of his burn house. It hadn't been very long, how long, Bender didn't know. He'd forgotten about time. Surrounding the property were small bulldosers and a fence. A construction crew was already waiting to build something new. A new house, Bender assumed. Dropping his bags from his shoulders, Bender jumped the fence. He stared at the house for a few moment before walking toward it, his mind a complete blank. He wandered through the familiar building, searching through the pile of rubble and burnt wood. A few things were identifiable; door handles, a lamp, parts of the door Bender himself installed. He stepped over a wooden plank that used to be a bed frame and saw something very, very familiar. He bent down and reached for it. Most of it had melted away but it was still reconisable. It was a toy, one of Mark's. I was that battery operated one that you can twist to different animals like a dial, and it played the sound of that animal. Bender's heart stopped. He felt it and it hurt. He fell to his knees one that dirty wooden plank that used to be a bed frame and cried. He cried hard. He didn't even hear someone calling his name.

"-ohn! John!"

Bender looked up and turned.

"John, it's me, Claire!"

Bender narrowed his eyes, trying to focus. He wiped away his tears and tried to peer through the fence. There she was, Claire. He wasn't sure what to do. He didn't want to see her, and yet, he did. He was conflicted and something felt really wrong. He turned away from her, and realised he was gripping part of that stupid toy. He dropped it and wiped away the wet tears on his cheeks with his shirt. He exhaled and wondered what to do. Slowly, he stood up from where he was and started to walk away. He paused. He turned back and picked up the toy again. He stared at it for a moment, before gripping it into his hand. He began to walk toward the fence, toward Claire. She was still waiting for him, her eyes watching. He hated the way she looked at him, it was making him angry. Ignoring her, he climbed the fence again and dropped down beside her. He began to walk toward his bags, placing the toy in his rucksack. He shouldered them and walked away.

bender heard footsteps behind him and realised Claire was following him.

"What the hell are you doing here, Cherry?" He finally asked.

"What are you?"

This answer made him pause. He turned and saw her looking at him, but it wasn't a pitying one anymore. It was of simple curiosity. He felt taken aback and tried not to show it, "It's my home."

"Not anymore." Claire replied matter-of-factly.

Bender raised an eyebrow, annoyed. He rounded on her, "What the fuck did you just say?"

Claire looked nervous but didn't back down, "It's not your home, anymore."

Bender wasn't sure how to respond and simply turned away. Again he heard footsteps behind him, "Stop following me! Fuck!"

"No, John." Claire said defiantly, "I'm here to help you. You just need to let me."

"Fuck that." Bender spoke over his shoulder not wanting to look at her.

"Stop running away!" There were quick footsteps and Bender found himself staring at Claire. Her hands were placed on his arms to stop him. She moved away from her. He did not want to be touched. Claire continued, "Please, don't do this. Don't run away. I'm here for you. Everyone is. I won't leave you, you have to accept that."

"Everyone leaves." Bender hissed, before he could stop himself. "Everyone does."

"I haven't." Claire said to him, her eyes boring into him.

"You will." Bender growled, then he smiled, his mind turned, anything to get away from her, "You'll spread your legs, I'll get what I want, and you'll leave. Just like everyone else."

Claire raised a hand and he felt the slap even before her hand made contact with his face. God, that stung, the cold air making it worse. It was a surprising amount of power coming from such a small person. He stared at her in surprise, his hand automatically on his cheek. He already had a bruise from Andy. Fuck, that hurt. He wondered if he was going to loose a tooth.

"You're such an asshole. God know why the hell I'm so infatuated with you." Claire said, her eyes filled with tears, "But I am, and I've accepted it. I want to help you and I will whatever I can to do so. Do you get that, John Bender? Do you?!"

Bender didn't say anything, merely swallowed. He reached for her face and brought his lips down to hers. Claire was surprised, but he didn't let go and she wasn't struggling, much.

"Sorry," he whispered, taking her in a tight squeeze. He didn't want her to see his face, "I'm sorry, sorry, sorry."

"Shut up." Claire said, hugging him back, "Just shut up."

* * *

><p>Brian was sitting in the library, quietly. He was supposed to be working on his homework, but he was thinking about other things. Not silly things like what college he was going to, or what he might major in. It was more on the friends he had made earlier that year. In such a short amount of time, so much has happened. So many losses, so many discoveries. It had him thinking whether this was what growing up was like. Was it really so depressing? He reflected back on his own life.<p>

His parents were no different. What made them so angry all the time? Look at John Bender's parents. How could they possibly do that to their own family? Brian shook his head. Bender hadn't been in school. They had given him the next few months off to recuperate. Brian had seen his locker, it was fixated with balloons and cards and other shit John bender would absolutely abhor. Brian could understand, they were insignificant. These people didn't care about Bender before he lost his entire family.

Someone cleared their throat and Brian shook his head, looking at his notes. He gave it one look then closed his books. He pushed it away from him and settled himself deeper into the couch. Right now, he didn't care. He found himself worrying about his friends. Allison's parents were going through a divorce, Andy was struggling with his future, Claire was worried about Bender, Bender lost his entire family. Brian, Brian felt he had it easy. He could go anywhere he wanted, with paid scholarship. In full!

"Hey, Brian."

Brian looked up and there was Andy, pulling his backpack off his shoulders and sitting across from Brian.

"Yo." Brian looked at Andy's face and saw a giant bruise, "What happened to you?"

"Bender." Andy said shortly, "It's cool. I think I broke his nose."

Brian widened his eyes and stared.

"What? Chicks dig this." Andy said, with a small smile, "Allison loves it."

"Allison is weird." Brian said, but smiled back. He hesitated, "How is he?"

Andy shrugged, but looked serious, "He needs help, man. I don't know how to get through to him. Maybe Claire can."

"Claire?" Brian repeated, "Is she safe around him?"

"I hope so." Andy said looking slightly worried, "I don't think he'd do anything to her. She's...different."

Brian was still worried.

"Cheer up, man. I've got some good news."

"What?"

"I know what I'm going to do." Andy announced, proud, "Joining the military. I'm gonna be an Army Ranger."

Brian looked at him, "Are you serious?"

Andy nodded his head and reached into his bag, "Yup, saw a recruiter just this morning. Lots of reading."

Brian didn't say anything he watched Andy pull out a large stack of papers talking about recruitment and training and other benefits.

"I'm not 18 just yet, but I'm signing up on my birthday." Andy said, looking at Brian and grinning, "I have a real good feeling about this."

"Okay." Brian said, smiling slightly, "You know what you want and it shows. Congratulations."

"Thanks, bud." Andy said, pulling the stack of papers closer to him.

"Do your parents know?"

Andy shook his head, "Haven't told 'em. Not sure I'm going to."

"They're gonna find out."

"I know." Andy said vaguely, "Guess I'm still afraid of what they might say, 'specially my mum."

"That's still cool." Brian said, honestly, "I'm glad you figured it out."

"It's thanks to you, nerd." Andy said, grinning.

Brian smiled back.

"What about you? Your books aren't even open."

"Figured there were other more important things to think about than silly tests."

"Whoa, really?" Andy replied jokingly.

Brian shrugged, "Yeah."

Andy nodded in agreement.

* * *

><p><em>Hmm, did that end to abruptly?<em>

_Anyway, comments, critiques, please!_


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